Neither Timid nor Tame
by bittersweetbetweenmyteeth
Summary: Vignettes featuring Marian & Robin, at various points in their long lives; AU after season 2. COMPLETED 6/23/15 - I hope you like it, and there's even something for you Guy fans that keep sending me strange PMs :)
1. Chapter 1

**Note: **This is not really a _story_ so much as a series of vignettes, starting from the end of series 1 and continuing on towards totally speculative future stuff - I'm anticipating maybe 8 stories/chapters in total. They are all focused on Robin and Marian, because tbh that's where my interests lie :) Feedback is always appreciated - compliments and criticisms alike. Note that some chapters - particularly chapter 3, although 1 and 2 contain maybe a line here and there - contain dialogue directly from the show; this is of course not mine. Nor are these particular variants of Robin Hood and his men, but let's be real: Robin Hood belongs to the people. Happy reading!

The title, embarrassingly, is from a Jewel song, but it's actually kind of a lovely one. "Love is a flame, neither timid nor tame"...

* * *

_When Robin arrives it is almost a relief, though she knows there will be a fight._ (Robin visits Marian the night before her wedding, 1x13)

* * *

She has never truly forgiven him for leaving.

When she was seventeen years old he had placed his mother's ring on her finger and promised. _I will always be there for you. You are my best friend. Marry me, Marian._ And she had believed him; stayed up nights thinking of names for their dark-haired, blue-eyed children: Edward for her father, and Katherine for both their mothers. Eleanor, for the queen, and Richard, of course. What noble had a boy child in those days and did not call it Richard?

He had kissed her the night before he left for the holy land, standing out in front of Knighton Hall two weeks after he'd given her that ring, and the salt on his lips did little to assuage her anger. He should be sad. He should be _miserable_.

He should be staying.

For five years, she heard no word from Robin of Locksley, though perhaps she should not have expected it. After he'd kissed her - and it was a deep, true kiss, with Marian's arms twined around his neck and tears in her eyes to match his - she had sobbed out a curse and thrown his ring across the dirt to land at his feet.

For five years Marian remembered that as the last of Robin of Locksley: her engagement ring at his feet, and something broken in his eyes.

She has not forgiven him, but she cannot forgive herself, either.

And now she will marry another. Something inside her clenches to think of it. Guy's hands, Guy's lips. Marian tries to imagine allowing him to touch her, to undress her, to-

When Robin arrives it is almost a relief, though she knows there will be a fight.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks, his posture casual. Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. She sees it at once for what it is: a pose. His body cannot hide the shudder in his voice. She almost died today, and though Marian does not fear death, she does not like to think what her death would do to others. To her father, to the people in the village. To Guy. To Robin.

The things she says next, she imagines regretting for the rest of her life. Something about belief, namely hers, that she could teach Guy to love - and maybe she could, but does she want to? After she had nearly died at Guy's hands - after Robin had saved her, and pleaded with her, and offered himself to her - after all of that, she would still marry Guy?

Impossible. It seems _impossible_ to her, but she still says it. "It is time to grow up and accept our lot in life." Coolly, carefully. And Robin just looks at her long and even, like he doesn't know he owns her heart, and then he leaves. Just like she told him to. No more fighting. No more declarations of love.

She cannot bear it.

That night sleep eludes her, and when she finds it at last, she is chased by dreams. Hands and darkness and a future she does not want. Dreams of her wedding night. She's had these dreams before, from the time she was fifteen and first noticed that her beloved friend had become something altogether more. Robin's eyes, blue like the water and grey like the clouds, and his hands, scarred and calloused and gentle with her, always. Even when they sparred as children, after he knocked her down, he would pick her up as though she were a fragile thing. In those months before their engagement he would take both her hands in his, his thumb tracing small circles on her palms. She used to dream of his hands on her, unlacing her gown to trail over the bare skin beneath. And his eyes, and his mouth: quiet for once, to kiss her better. Marian knew that plenty of women found pleasure in the marriage bed, and she intended to be one of them.

Her dreams now are different. Guy will not be gentle: she knows this. He will try, she thinks, but he does not yet know how to be gentle. Perhaps in time she will teach him, but she expects no pleasure, no delight. She has never longed to feel his body pressed up against hers.

When Marian hears a sigh, she awakens abruptly, though the sound might well have come from her.

It didn't.

* * *

After his visit with Marian, Robin spends the rest of the afternoon conducting a vicious sword fight against an old oak in the forest. It doesn't take long for his arms to ache - the tree doesn't give the way a body would, the way Gisborne's body would - but he soldiers on, relentless.

Much finds him then, and Robin is surprised, and relieved. He doesn't really believe Much would leave him, no matter what awful things he says, but it wouldn't be a shock if he slunk off for a while.

But Much is too good a man for slinking. He finds Robin, and takes the sword from his tired hands, and - what a good man, Much, what a good friend - ignores the fact that Robin has obviously been crying, and turns his back so Robin can wipe the evidence away a bit more privately.

He goes back to camp with his head low. He had been so certain of his success and failure colors his mood black, and as much as the rest of the gang tries to engage him, he will not be moved. While Much cooks dinner and Djaq leads the others to the road, Robin leans against a tree, moodily scraping at arrows. He says nothing and ignores every sympathetic glance, never taking his eyes from the arrows. Robin is not a methodical worker, never has been - he doesn't have the attention span for it, he's not Will - but if he does not stop working, he will not have to think.

And then night falls. Robin works by firelight for a while, but it dies after the others have gone to sleep, and he cannot picture himself caring enough to light it again. _It's a waste of firewood, anyway_, he hears Much saying, like he's said a thousand times before. _And it makes us too easy to spot._

So he goes walking.

When Robin was a boy, and Marian no more than nine, her mother had passed away. Slowly, over a long, cold winter, and though everyone else in the village had seen it coming, Marian was still shocked. She had stared stone-faced through the funeral and as they put her mother's body in the ground. When her father reached out to console her, she pulled away. The villagers whispered about it, unkind things, ungenerous, but Robin knew.

For two weeks after her mother's death, Robin snuck out of the manor at night and slept in a nook outside Marian's room, tucked under the roof of Knighton Hall. Perched like a bird, he listened to her crying and tossing, sleeping and waking only to cry again. Though it was April, the wind was still cold. When the fire in her room went dim, he added wood and stoked it, so she would not wake up alone in the dark. When she cried out in dreams, he tucked her blanket back around her shoulders, placed a cool hand against her forehead until she calmed. For two weeks he kept vigil. Neither of them had brothers or sisters who survived infancy, so they only had each other. Just as Robin had taught her all the curse words he knew, just as she'd helped him with his sums, just as they'd worked together at shooting and fighting, so he had kept her warm during her first motherless weeks.

After that, Robin found himself watching over her at night every once in a while. When he was prowling the village in the dark and both she and Much refused to accompany him, he would stop by her window. Just to make sure.

He could not have explained this instinct if someone had asked. He only knew that it was important: that it was his responsibility to watch over her. This went on for years, until he was sixteen and Marian barely fourteen, and he realized that the ache he now felt watching her sleep had nothing brotherly in it.

Tonight, though, he'll make an exception. Tomorrow she will be in someone else's bed - in _his_ bed _with_ Gisborne, a nasty part of his brain reminds him - though she won't _be_ Gisborne's. Marian is not the kind of woman who belongs to anyone.

Robin wants so desperately to belong to her.

One last night, he sits outside her window and watches her until he falls asleep.

* * *

Marian sits upright, clutching the blanket to her chest to cover her thin chemise. "Robin?" she hisses into the darkness, then shakes her head. No one is outside her window. Least of all him.

But she hears a rustling that cannot be explained by the leaves. She pulls out the dagger she keeps next to her bed and moves silently to the window. "Who's there?"

As she gets close, a pair of eyes peek over the bottom of her window. Marian gasps. "What-"

Robin's head comes up next, followed by his shoulders, his long legs. He climbs through her open window as though he'd been invited. "Sorry," he says, looking embarrassed, if not quite embarrassed enough. "I didn't mean to-"

"What are you _thinking_?" she whispers harshly. As quick as she can she grabs her robe and pulls it over her nightgown, though she knows it's too late for that. "Sneaking around here in the middle of the night, like an-"

"Outlaw?" Robin suggests, grinning.

Marian sighs. "Honestly."

He runs a hand through his hair - it's getting long, Marian notes absently - and says, "I'll go, then."

"No." She hears the word from afar, as though someone else said it. She hears it like a secret that should have stayed unspoken. Robin raises an eyebrow, and she rushes to make the word sound less like a plea and more like a demand. "You must have had something to tell me, if you came out here in the middle of the night."

"No, not really." He shrugs, grandly. Typical. She has to admit, his showmanship has improved over the years.

"You were walking through the village, and you _just happened_ to fall asleep on my roof?"

"_Under_ your roof."

"Robin."

He sighs, but he's half-smiling up at her through all of that hair. "I'll tell you, if you must hear it. It won't do much good."

"Try me." She sits down on her bed and faces him, wrapping her arms around herself. It feels like protection, though against what she doesn't know.

She watches him as he purses his lips, rolling the words around in his mouth, shifting his weight. She'll wait. "Marian, I-"

A long pause. She just looks at him.

When Robin exhales, he takes his whole body with him; folds into himself as he leans against the wall, looking back at her. "I used to do this when we were young."

"Do what?"

"Sleep outside your room. When you were upset, or when I was worried about you. I'd go walking and end up here." He laughs, but it's sharp around the edges. "I thought I could protect you."

This is something she's always known, but hearing him say it breaks her heart a little bit, and makes her furious at the same time. Just like always, she supposes. "I don't need your protection."

"Don't you?" he shoots back. "Here you are, about to marry Gisborne. And if I hadn't shown up here with that necklace, you wouldn't be marrying him at all because _you would be dead_."

Marian keeps her voice even. "Well, if you hadn't gotten involved, I wouldn't have lost the necklace in the first place."

"A necklace he stole from a villager!" Robin explodes. He isn't leaning anymore. They stare at each other from across the room, and Marian could swear that the ghosts of all their choices haunt the eaves of Knighton Hall. The air is thick with all their long years together. All the history and all the tears and all of the _choices_.

_Everything is a choice_, he always says. Indeed.

In the end, it's Marian who gives in. She stands up and crosses to him, and holds her hands out to his. A peace offering. He takes them, and while she talks he traces small circles on her palms, like it's instinct. Marian shudders. "I _am_ sorry, Robin," she whispers, her gaze lifting from their joined hands. His jaw is set, and she cannot stand the thought of Robin Hood crying. Of making Robin Hood cry. "I wish things could be different."

He just nods, his face tilted to the floor and his eyes closed. He turns his face away from her before he opens them again, but it doesn't fool her. "I should let you sleep." On silent feet he retreats to the window, but Marian places a hand on his arm.

"Wait," she says. She wants to ask him why he came, what he wanted to tell her - he had skirted the question so easily - but looking at him, his body turned to the window and his eyes on hers with something desperate in them - she cannot ask. She cannot make him say it.

Anyway, she already knows.

"Please stay," she says, before she knows what she is doing. He stiffens and turns toward her, wary.

Marian closes her eyes and breathes. She wants to remember this, when she is another man's wife. The scent and sound of the fire in the hearth, the dried lavender under her pillow. And Robin, who has always smelled like earth and sweat and apple blossoms and home.

He still looks uncertain, but his expression has softened. Marian takes off her robe, conscious all the time of his eyes on her in her thin nightgown, but he doesn't say a word. She slides back under the blanket on her narrow bed, rests her head on the pillow. Turns onto her side, facing him. She will not ask him. If she has to say it out loud, then she has lost, and Marian has given up so much already.

Robin still hasn't moved, and she is ashamed to feel tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Perhaps this is it: the moment when he has finally had enough. When he finally stops fighting for her.

And then he bends down to take off his boots. His jacket, too, and the heavier shirt, and he never looks away. When he is down to his undershirt and leggings, he climbs under the blanket. Turns onto his side, facing her. He loops his right arm around her and sneaks his left arm between her stomach and the mattress, pulling her tight against him, their foreheads touching. She slides her feet between his legs, pressing out the last of their air between them.

Marian exhales.

His right hand reaches up to run through her hair. He twirls it around his long fingers and her breath catches when his palm brushes her jaw, then rests there. "Marian," he says.

If they were man and wife, she thinks, they would lie like this every night, just to remind each other what their bodies felt like, how perfectly they fit together. Of course, if she were the wife of Robin Hood, they would be lying together in the forest, instead of in her warm bed.

She realizes suddenly what a small sacrifice it would actually be, to give up her warm bed to marry the man she loves. If only that were all she would lose.

He traces his thumb around her ear, her jaw, her lips; when she presses a kiss against his thumb he blinks and inhales sharply. She trails her lips down his palm, and her left hand comes up to his lips. Dry and warm, and soft as they press against the backs of her knuckles.

Robin doesn't kiss her, though he surely knows that she would kiss him back. But his lips on her hands fill her with enough regret and desire already, and if he kissed her she could not possibly marry Guy tomorrow.

The thought of him should bother her now, she realizes. She should not be so comfortable thinking about him while she lies in someone else's arms. She cannot imagine sharing this kind of intimacy with Guy. With anyone else.

Finally, regretfully, Marian turns in Robin's arms so her back is pressed against his chest. She pulls his arms close around her, and shivers as he nuzzles her neck. His legs curl against hers and they sigh, audibly, at the exact same moment. She can feel him smiling into the curve of her shoulder. "Good night, Marian."

"Good night," she says, doing her best to clear her mind. He whispers something else but she cannot make it out, and in any case, she is fast asleep before he speaks again.


	2. Chapter 2

_Lately the distance between "she loves you" and "she's yours" seems longer than ever._ (Robin and Marian in the forest circa 2x07-08)

* * *

No one had even tried to stop them leaving.

With Marian's arms wrapped around his waist, they'd ridden out of the gates like they were no one. Not a fugitive and a prisoner - not even an earl and the sheriff's daughter, as they once were -_ no one_. There wasn't a guard or a peasant who batted an eye to see them riding off together, and while Robin isn't a man who asks too many questions, he does wonder.

The gang are all waiting when Robin and Marian arrive, and John helps her down from the horse. She doesn't object - just takes his arm and gives him a smile that looks almost painful. Robin hops down after her. "Marian'll be staying with us now," he says.

They all pipe up half-heartedly,_ glad you're here_ and _you'll like it_ and other nonsense, but as always Djaq walks right past the bullshit. "I am so sorry about your father, Marian," she says, putting one hand on Marian's shoulder.

It feels like the entire forest is holding its breath, and then Marian nods. "Thank you," she says softly.

Marian clings to him throughout that first day in the forest, something that is unlike her, if not entirely unwelcome. She follows him like a shadow as he gets everyone ready for yet another tiny, questionably legal wedding.

When Robin says the words that marry John and Beatrice he cannot help glancing at Marian. He knows it isn't the time - when will it ever be the time? - but she is here with him in the forest, and that has to be a step in the right direction.

Later on Much starts the cooking fire, and Marian curls up next to Robin as they eat dinner. The mood around the fire is more subdued than usual, for even though they are all here and they have the pact, they cannot forget what it cost them. Certainly not with Marian here, looking into the growing darkness of the woods with doleful eyes.

One by one the outlaws wander away, to solitude or to bed, except that Will and Djaq go off together and Robin wonders about it, not for the first time. By the light of the dying fire, Marian turns to him. "Where shall I sleep?"

Ah. "We've got an extra bedroll," he says, not pointing out that it used to be Allan's. It shouldn't smell too bad, anyway - Allan had been surprisingly clean, most of the time. "I can show you where Djaq usually sleeps, if you'd like to-"

Marian shakes her head, almost imperceptibly.

"Or you can stay by me." His voice is barely a whisper already and it breaks at the end, but Marian's fingers twine through his, and she holds his hand like she is afraid of letting go.

They walk off. Robin shoulders Allan's bedroll and then his own, and leads Marian away from the camp. After a few minutes, he sets their bedding down under an enormous willow tree. Its branches hang down around them like curtains, letting the sky through in patches. The stars shine through the leaves.

Marian sits down on one of the old tree's enormous roots while Robin makes their beds - carefully, not too close together, but close enough that if Marian reached out in the night she would find him there, and know that he hadn't left.

She strips down to her undergarments and doesn't ask him to turn away and her hair is everywhere, and it wasn't all that long ago that she had almost married Gisborne and left him forever, but here she is.

Here she is.

When they are both curled up inside their blankets, Marian looks at him. "My father."

He's been waiting for this - dreading it, if he's honest - all day.

"Was he in much pain?" Her voice is quiet and rough. It sounds like it hurts her to say the words.

Robin shakes his head on instinct, even though she has to know it's a lie. They've both suffered wounds like that. It is nothing _but_ pain. "Not for very long," he says, and hopes it will be a comfort to her. "It happened quickly."

Marian nods. He can see her throat work as she swallows back tears. "Before he died I said things to him that - things I shouldn't have said, and I didn't mean..."

"He knew you loved him," Robin whispers back. "He knew you were proud."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now." She rolls over onto her back, eyes wide, staring up at the stars through the branches. "For so long I've been helping you and keeping him safe, and now - I don't know. What he would have wanted."

Robin is not stupid. Whatever Edward had said, what he'd _wanted_ for Marian was a safe home with a warm bed and bouncing babies and a husband who wasn't an outlaw. Come to it, that's what _Robin_ wants for Marian, provided that said husband is him.

Still. He wants to tell her, but he wants her to ask.

"Did he say anything else?" Her voice gets quieter every time she speaks, and he hopes for her sake that she's falling asleep. Though he doesn't envy the dreams she will have tonight.

"That he was proud." He doesn't know how to say the rest without sounding like he's taking advantage, but if he's going to say it he just has to come out with it. "And that I'm not as bad as he thought."

His attempt at understatement doesn't go unnoticed, or unappreciated. Marian smiles for the first time in hours. "Did he now?"

"He said he'd never understood what you saw in me," he says, serious now, and Marian closes her eyes, "but that he thought you were right, after all."

"Of course I was," she says, almost laughing, still sneaking a hand out of her blankets to brush the tears from her cheeks. With closed eyes she doesn't see the fond smile on Robin's face, but he can't make it disappear no matter how much he grieves for her. Edward is dead, and he cannot quite believe it yet, but even so: Marian is _here_, she is with him, and she thinks he is a good man, and she is still always right.

She is always right, so she must be right about him.

* * *

It's possible, Robin thinks, that Marian was right all along.

She's been in the forest for barely a week when she starts to get reckless and agitated. "I just wish I could wash my hair," she grumbles.

Robin raises an eyebrow. "You've only been here a week. How often did you bathe in the castle?"

"In the _castle_ I wasn't sleeping on the ground," she snipes.

He throws his arms out. "Fine. We have soap. Any of us can take you to a stream."

"And what if someone walks by and sees me?"

"Like who, Marian? A deer? There's no one out here."

She narrows her eyes at him. "_You're_ out here."

He tries for levity. "Well, that wouldn't be all bad."

While this doesn't elicit an ideal response - not that Robin really thought he'd get an invitation, but it seemed worth a shot - it _does_ get her to roll her eyes and sigh in exactly the way she does when she finds him both irritating and adorable. Given what she's been like all morning, Robin counts this as a win.

"Look, I know this isn't ideal-" She snorts, but he continues, "but it's better than the alternative."

What he means is _it's better than being alone in the castle_,_ it's better than being with Gisborne_, i_t's better than swinging while the Sheriff arranges to put your head up on a pike_ \- but from the way her eyes flash, he knows that all she hears is her father's name, unspoken. To Marian, the alternative still means _in the castle, with her father._

"Is it," she says tersely, through gritted teeth. And turns on her heel to stalk off into the forest.

"Oh come on, Marian," he calls after her hopelessly. He presses the heels of hands into his forehead and he wants to rage and he wishes there was someone horrible around so he could throw a punch and relieve some of the frustration that's burning him up, but alas. When he turns around it's Djaq standing there behind him, silent as a - well, as a Saracen - and looking at him appraisingly.

"What?" he snaps.

"Nothing," she says, doing that little head-shake and pursing her lips. It does not help Robin's mood.

"_What_?" he says again. Harsher this time.

Djaq takes the last few steps to stand right next to him, and she echoes his body language, crossing her arms and staring off into the forest. "You need to be gentle with her, Robin."

He's not proud of it, but God, does he hate being told what to do. "I _am_." And he _is_, he thinks. Surely. All those nights holding her when she awoke from yet another nightmare. All these days walking on eggshells, trying not to talk about her father or her house or the past or the future.

She lets him sit with her silence for a few minutes before she speaks again. "She has lost a great deal."

"I know that," he says, but thinks,_ so have we all_.

"Then why are you so frustrated?"

Robin can think of about fifty thousand reasons, many of which don't involve Marian at all, and frankly he prefers those. The reasons he finds Marian frustrating don't make him look very good.

"You cannot take the place of her father," Djaq says, and talks over him when he starts to object. "That is not what I mean. It is not fair for you to expect that it will be enough, just to be with you."

He stares resolutely into the middle distance. "It is for me."

She puts a hand on his arm, and he's forced to look at her. "Was that true five years ago?"

For a second his hackles rise, and he grits his teeth and prepares to say something sharp - when he suddenly deflates. She is right, after all. What objection can he make?

He'd left for the Holy Land because Marian wasn't enough. Because he'd wanted things that couldn't happen at home, no matter how much he regrets it now. No matter how much he sees what a poor trade he made: the love of a brave, clever woman for the gore and horror of the battlefield. He cannot change it now.

She hadn't been enough for him, so how could he possibly expect any different?

They stand there for a few minutes more, looking into the shadowed forest, and as always there is something calming about Djaq's presence. It has occurred to Robin that if something happens to him, Djaq would probably be the best person to take over the gang - Will is smart, but he isn't loud enough; John is big but a terrible planner, and Much is - well, he's Much, and wonderful in his way, but a leader of men he is not.

"I don't know what to do," Robin admits, finally.

"It will take time," Djaq says.

He lets out a short laugh.

"But she'll come around," she continues. Then looks up at him: "She loves you, Robin."

It's true, he knows. But lately the distance between _she loves you_ and _she's yours_ seems longer than ever.

"Thanks, Djaq," he says, and he mostly means it.

"Of course." She pats him gingerly on the arm. "Now you must return to camp and stop Will from helping with dinner."

* * *

She does not mean to be reckless.

It is just this: for years now, she has had to be so careful. When the Sheriff first showed up and deposed her father, she packed her things quietly and comforted her father and cast her eyes down when powerful men addressed her. When they started starving out the villagers, she went into the woods to practice fighting for the first time since Robin left, preparing to don a mask and hand out stolen goods in the dead of night. Until Guy stabbed her, she never got caught - because until that night, she was always careful.

Marian is quiet and deadly and _careful_, because she has always had to be. To protect herself, and - more importantly, so much more - to protect her father. She knows she could handle anything they throw at her, but her father - tired and frail and increasingly so, every passing week - he could not have withstood a flogging or diminished rations.

And now he is gone, so what reason does she have to be careful? In the face of her father's death, Marian is free of all duty and obligation, and after so many years of being _so careful_: well, it is no wonder that she has started taking risks. When has she ever had the opportunity before?

Clun was a mistake, she sees that now. But she's never had to answer to anyone before, for however much Marian loved her father, she cannot think of a single time that she obeyed him. She pretended to listen to Guy and the Sheriff, only to undermine their orders at the first opportunity. Taking orders doesn't come naturally to her, especially after acting alone for so many years.

And she wonders, wandering around the empty camp, whether this is what she wants, after all. Living in the forest with Robin and all of them. Taking orders, making dinner, sleeping alone surrounded by the birds and raccoons and John's inescapable snoring. She would never tell Robin this, but her father wasn't the only reason she avoided coming out to the forest. Marian knew even then that she might chafe under Robin's leadership - she who had loved him so long and could count every one of his flaws.

It is _hard_ being in the forest, something she doesn't think Robin understands: having come from five years in the Holy Land the outlaws' camp seems heavenly, she's sure, but coming from the comfort and familiarity of the castle - it is not, so much.

Moreover, she knew her role in the castle. It was a part she'd gotten good at playing - the innocent, always in the right place to hear the castle gossip, but never so close as to be suspicious. She got good - too good - at getting information and passing it on, and Guy hardly suspecting.

In the forest, what is her role? She's as good a shot and a fighter as any of them, but they've all been together so long that they move perfectly together, each making up for the others' gaps, each picking up where the last leaves off. Marian isn't part of that, and she doesn't know that she can be. That there is room for her to be part of Robin Hood's gang as well as Robin Hood's - she blushes to think the word but she cannot find one better - lover.

In any case, Marian is not altogether displeased that Robin saw her kissing Guy. Perhaps it'll make him think a little bit.

It makes her think a little bit. There was a time when it did not seem such an awful thing, to be married to Guy. It was not what she wanted, but as she had said to her father: there are worse things than marrying a man you do not love.

Of course, then he had stabbed her. And burned her house down.

And as much as she tries to avoid thinking about it, she cannot forget the way she felt after she saw her father lying dead on the ground. Guy had tried to hold her - a gesture of real affection and whatever kindness exists in him, she is sure - but his touch made her cringe and left her no warmer, and when he tried to kiss her, her entire body recoiled.

When she went into her room to find Robin there waiting for her, she felt, for the briefest moment, like she could _breathe_ again.

He had come for her, like he always did, like he always would. Just as she would do for him.

And Robin Hood told her that her father wanted her to keep dreaming, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning, and maybe he was.

Maybe he still is.

And when she tells him "I'm sorry," she means it. And when she takes his hand and feels him standing warm beside her, looking out over the long road, she cannot imagine being anywhere else.

For now, that is enough.


	3. Chapter 3

_Home is here, home is here, home is her._ (Finale fix-it - so 2x13)

* * *

Marian is unarmed. Exhausted and unarmed and she promised Robin she would wait for him, that she wouldn't do anything rash, but here is the king. And Marian is unarmed and exhausted, but she is also brave.

And she isn't afraid of Guy of Gisborne.

Marian gasps as she watches the king fall to the ground, clutching his shoulder, and Guy across the plaza. Ready. Waiting.

"Guy!" she calls, her voice echoing across the stone. She runs. Out the door, past where the king lies prone on the ground, and she sees the confusion on Guy's face. Her hands are up, and suddenly so is his sword.

"Stop! It's over, Guy." She can feel a smile coming on, bright, like something breaking. Like everything in her life, everything she's done these past two years finally coming together. And Marian is desperate and brave and smiling.

His eyes narrow. "Get out of the way," he growls, his voice dark.

She shakes her head. "All this time I've been fighting _for England_," she says, and she can't erase the joy from her face. To finally, finally speak the truth. "Do you think I'm going to let you _kill_ England?"

"Marian, _get out of the way_!" He swings at her then, but he misses by such a great distance that she knows he isn't even trying.

And she isn't afraid.

"You'll have to kill me first." She spreads her arms wide like an invitation. It isn't just that she feels brave. It's that the adrenaline rushes through her, and she cannot imagine doing anything less than offering up herself for her king. Guy keeps his sword pointed at her and forces her backwards, closer and closer to where King Richard lies wounded.

"No," he says. "We're going to get out of this. I'll do this thing. Then I will have power beyond belief." She sees that glimmer in his eyes again. It's become so familiar: longing and anger and desperation, tangled and messy and all for her, whether she wants it or not. Guy's voice is low when he continues. "And we will be together."

He's said it a hundred times before, but hearing him say it now, with Robin's vows still ringing in her ears and making her body thrum, it sounds so _ridiculous_. She and Guy? How could she ever have believed it possible?

And a moment, then, of perfect clarity: "I would rather _die_ than be with you, Guy of Gisborne." As soon as she says the words, she feels the release - the relief - and Marian can't stop smiling, even though she knows she is doing a cruel thing to a man who has seen too much cruelty.

His eyes flash. "No," he said, his voice a low, impossible hiss.

Marian knows she should stop, but she doesn't have that kind of self-control. "I'm going to marry Robin Hood," she says, almost giddy with it. His blue, blue eyes and his easy smile and his strong arms, and Marian has never in her twenty-two years felt joy like this._Yes, Sheriff, we _are_ going to live as man and wife in sunny Sherwood_. Marian is going to be Robin Hood's _wife_, and he will be hers to have and to hold, as they had always meant, and she realizes she never really believed it would happen until now. And now? She has never felt more certain of anything. "I _love_ Robin Hood. I love-"

"Marian!"

She turns sharply at the sound of her name to see Robin running down the steps, and just as he pulls his arm back to launch an arrow, Guy's sword flashes out of the corner of her eye.

He swings at her. _At her_, this time-

There is no time to react, no time to do anything-

And then Robin's arrow hits its target, _like always_, she imagines him saying, and Guy drops his sword and cries out, clutching at his injured arm. Quick as anything Marian grabs the sword and holds it two-handed before her. Before the king.

"No, you don't," she says, and Robin's footsteps come up behind her. He strings one more arrow and points it at Guy, his arm shaking but holding steady. Robin is breathing heavily, but Marian doesn't dare take her eyes off of Guy. "Good timing," she says, her voice low, and out of the corner of her eye she sees him nod in acknowledgement.

"Any time. Now," he says, addressing himself to Guy, "what shall we do with you?"

More footsteps on the stone of the plaza, and Marian spares a glance to see that Djaq is tending to the king. John, Will, and Allan come around to surround Guy, and John suggests, gruffly: "Kill him."

"No," Marian breathes at the same moment as Allan. Their eyes meet, and she sees her own discomfort reflected in him. Allan looks sick, and though Marian doesn't doubt that they have both chosen the right side - the side of justice and mercy and the lawful king - she also knows that they have both lost something in the choosing.

"He should have a trial," Will says, calm and quiet, and Marian exhales. Solid, sensible Will.

"He tried to kill the king!" Robin yells - and adds, in a harsh whisper for only Marian to hear, "He tried to kill _you_." His eyes dart to hers and she sees the fear in them.

A voice looms up behind them. "But he did not succeed," King Richard says. He comes around to Robin's other side, leaning on Djaq only a little bit. "And so he will stand trial."

The king's face is grim and set, and Marian has no doubt what the result of the trial will be. She is surprised by how much it hurts.

Guy looks up, but his face is closed to her now. "Just get it over with," he growls.

"Tie him up," the king says, and in an instant guards converge on the plaza. Guy does not fight, and as they take him away Marian has to bite back the urge to say _I'm sorry_.

For what, she doesn't know.

When Guy is gone, the king turns to them: Robin Hood and his men - and women - assembled before him. "I owe you a great debt," he says, meeting each of their eyes in turn. Marian wonders if this is how Robin learned his intensity. "I betrayed you, and you returned to save my life - twice."

Robin's eyes are shining with pride - and awe, Marian suspects - and in that moment, for just an instant, she wonders if King Richard is worth all of the sacrifices they have made. For years she has revered the king, fought for the king, risked her life for the king - but without Robin she is not sure she would remember why.

"I wish to repay you," the king is saying, intruding on Marian's not-quite-treasonous thoughts. "Let me give you a token, at least, to show my gratitude."

They all look to Robin, who shakes his head. "It is a generous offer, Your Highness, but we cannot accept."

Much opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. They're all nodding, in fact, and looking humble like they're supposed to, but humility has never been Marian's strong suit.

* * *

"There is one thing."

Robin turns, surprised to hear Marian's voice instead of Much, or Allan. Marian, who asks for so little and takes even less. He wonders what it is: what the king has that Marian could want.

The king nods at her gravely. "Tell me."

Her eyes dart to Robin's, bright and a little nervous, and he gives her what he hopes is a reassuring grin.

"Robin and I wish to marry," she says, and he brightens. Her voice is strong, addressing the king, and Robin is proud of her. She saved Richard's life, after all. She earned that right. "And since we are all here, perhaps you could marry us."

Robin's smile grows. Clever Marian. No one could dispute a marriage performed by the King of England, even if he weds an outlaw to a deposed sheriff's daughter. And he remembers promising her something similar, weeks ago when she accepted his second proposal.

King Richard laughs, warm and full. "It would be my honor," he says. "I'm sure you've both waited long enough. When we return to England, simply name the day."

Marian looks at Robin again, biting her lip and grinning, and he knows, and something blossoms inside him that he hasn't felt since they left for Acre.

Not taking his eyes from hers, Robin says, "How about today?"

As soon as he says the words, Marian's smile lights up that it outshines even the desert sun. And Robin's to match hers, and he aches to touch her and he absolutely cannot allow himself to think about how close he came to losing her today.

Richard looks between the pair, eyes narrowed, and then suddenly relaxes. "Well, why not? If you do not mind having the ceremony here, away from your families."

"We have no families save the people you see before you," Marian says. "There is no one else we would have."

"Tonight, then," Richard decides. "Before dinner, and then we shall feast in your honor. Will that suit you?"

Robin grins. "Very much, my lord."

The king takes his leave then, heads back to the camp, and as soon as his back is turned Marian rushes into Robin's arms. He buries his face in her hair and holds her, so tight she'd normally have protested, but not now.

"My wife," he whispers, voice muffled against her shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the rest of his gang moving away, leaving him and Marian alone.

"Not quite yet," she says, pulling away to look at him. "Don't get ahead of yourself." She is smiling but her eyes are bright.

His left arm still close around her waist, he reaches up to touch her face with his right hand, running his fingers along her jaw, the curve of her ear. She turns into his palm, eyes closed, and he brushes his thumb across her cheek. "Marian," he says, his voice husky and low.

She brushes her lips against his hand.

Robin cannot say the things he is thinking. When he saw Guy pull his sword back just inches from Marian's unprotected body, his heart stopped. Everything was instinct. The arrow, the bow, his arm and his aim, and he did not breathe again until Guy's sword had clattered - no sound had ever been so loud as that - to the ground, and Marian was safe.

In that instant, from when Guy pulled his arm back in preparation for the fatal blow to the moment Robin's arrow hit its mark, Robin saw an impossible future before him. Marian bleeding out on the cold stone. Burying her body among the sweeping sands. Walking back to Nottingham without her.

His entire life without her, short as it was. He had not realized it until that moment, but Marian had all of the fight between them. Without her, he saw a future brief and impossibly painful. But holding her now, warm and breathing and _alive_, he sees the rest of his life laid out before him as bright and familiar as the road through Sherwood Forest.

She gives him a small, cautious smile. He leans in to press his lips to hers and she responds eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck and standing up on her toes to reach him better. Her mouth opens to his, and God, she still tastes like England. In the Holy Land he is saffron and rose water and Marian is still smoky and sweet, apples and lavender. Her lips are impossibly soft and her fingers tangle in his hair, and she pulls away, presses her forehead to his. Marian laughs, the sound so bright and joyful that it fills everything in him that has ever been empty.

And home is here, home is here, home is her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: **Thanks to everyone who has left reviews! I really appreciate it. Please keep them coming, if you're inclined.

* * *

_She is the queen of everything, and Robin will be the happiest man in England to kneel at her feet for the rest of his life. _(Robin and Marian's wedding, shortly after the, ahem, fixed events of 2x13)

* * *

Marian has never looked more beautiful. Barefoot in the same white gown she wore earlier, with her hair up and a crown of desert flowers circling her head.

She is the queen of everything, and Robin will be the happiest man in England to kneel at her feet for the rest of his life.

Just as the sun sets, out in the desert where they'd nearly died only hours earlier. Someone has erected an altar of planks and sheer white curtains, and Marian stands beneath it, next to the king. It turns out that no one will give her away: who is left alive that owns her heart, other than Robin Hood?

As soon as she spots him, her face brightens. Her blue eyes shining and she wears no veil, for she has nothing to hide. They have known each other since they were children. Robin knows the lines of her face better than he knows his own heart.

It looks like every Englishman in the Holy Land has turned up, and Robin sees his men gathered near the front. John and Allan, Djaq and Will - but where is Much?

He hears a cough from behind him and smiles. Of course.

"Yes?" he says, raising one eyebrow.

Much is much cleaner than he was a few hours ago - they all are, thanks to Richard's directing them to an oasis not too far off - and he's borrowed clothes from someone. They're nicer than what he came in - and again, importantly, _cleaner_ \- but just a little too big, and he looks uncomfortable.

"I just want to say - congratulations," Much says stiffly.

Robin's eyebrow lifts even higher. Nothing is ever that simple with Much.

"Things will be different now," he says, puffing up a bit under Robin's scrutiny. "What with you being a married man."

"What are you getting at?"

Much lifts his chin. "Don't forget about us, is all. We're all very happy for you, but there is still work to do. Things back at home aren't going to be perfect just because you and Marian are married."

"Much, I know that!" Robin shakes his head, incredulous. "Do you really think I'm going to run off and leave all of you to…fend for yourselves?"

"The possibility did come up."

"Oh, come on. That's a bit unfair."

Much looks toward the place where the rest of the men are gathered and shakes his head mournfully. "Well, I expect most of them would do the same, given the opportunity."

Robin slings his arm over Much's shoulders. "You needn't worry, my friend. I suspect we'll have plenty of work to do when we return, and I intend to see it through. We _both_ do," he adds, nodding up at Marian.

Much's gaze follows his, and he sighs. "She does look very nice."

"She does," Robin agrees, grinning. "And now it's time. Please don't worry." He gives Much a pat on the back and the two part ways - Much to join the rest of the gang at the front, and Robin to join his bride under the altar. Finally.

There are no pews, no aisles, so Robin works his way through the crowd of soldiers. A few of them recognize him from before and clap him on the back - or the back of the head - but most look right past him. Robin thinks it's not the worst thing to be married here. He'd have loved to see a wedding, back when he was a soldier here. Something to distract from the horror and death. Something bright. A reminder that life could get better.

In any case, he's not interested in putting off this wedding any longer. He postponed it once and nearly lost her forever, and he is not taking any more risks with Marian.

After what feels like an eternity, he finds himself under the altar, across from her. She gives him a smile that's almost shy - something he can't remember seeing on her before - and the setting sun casts gold across her face and hair, and Robin feels like his body could not possibly be big enough to contain everything he is feeling.

King Richard's voice booms out across the crowd, bringing everyone to attention. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of one of our most esteemed countrymen, Robin of Locksley, once and future Earl of Huntingdon, to Marian, daughter of the late Edward, Sheriff of Nottingham. Are there any here who have cause to object to such a union?"

No one objects, as far as Robin can tell. He is lost in Marian's smile. Why hadn't he done this five years ago? What an idiot he'd been.

"Then we shall proceed," the king says, smiling benevolently. It's been some time since he brought such happy tidings, having spent years presiding over hasty battlefield funerals. He goes on to tell the gathered crowd about the day's events, and Robin's and Marian's roles. It's not that Robin isn't appreciative - he is, really - but he also just wants to get on with it. He wants to be Marian's husband.

The next time he kisses her, he wants to be kissing his wife.

Finally, King Richard tells them to exchange rings. Djaq had gone earlier to the market in Acre to purchase them: slim, plain silver bands for both of them, and even those were remarkable to find - and dearly expensive - in a city at war. Richard offered the use of his jewelry, but Marian and Robin fully intend to keep the rings that marry them.

When Robin slides the ring onto Marian's finger, all he knows is how warm her hands are.

"And now, your vows," the king says. He turns to Robin and opens his mouth to speak, but Robin cuts him off.

"I, Robin, take you, Marian, to be my lawful wedded wife," he says, for the second time today. He grins at her, and this time he doesn't hesitate, and he doesn't wait for anyone to prompt him. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and cherish and worship, for as long as we both shall live."

The king doesn't interject at all this time. Marian's eyes are so full of light. He wonders how she looked earlier, the first time she married him. "I, Marian, take you, Robin, to be my lawful wedded husband." He holds her hands in his. She is smiling with tears in her eyes, and Robin blinks back his own as she continues. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish," and she grins slyly up at him, "and sometimes obey, for as long as we both shall live."

And then the king, one more time: "Robin, you may now—"

Robin doesn't even wait for him to finish. He pulls Marian to him and kisses her, arms around her waist. The crowd whoops and he thinks Richard is still talking, but Marian is kissing him back with such passion that he doesn't hear any of it. He could stay here forever, kissing her.

Kissing - finally - his _wife_.

* * *

He wishes they had just executed him on the spot. That would have been better than this.

_Anything_ would have been better than this.

Guy had asked repeatedly to be temporarily tied to a stake out in the desert, or executed, or given over to the Saracens, but to no avail.

"Yer to be under guard at all times," a rough-faced soldier had snapped. "Can't do nothin' about it."

And no soldier is willing to miss a feast.

So: here is Guy, an unwilling guest at the wedding of the woman he loves to the man he hates more than anything.

He sees her standing up there in white, the sunlight glinting off her hair, and it tears at him. It _tears_ at him, and he would rather be flayed alive than watch this.

And how happy she looks. No one, he realizes - not his mother or his sister and never Marian, _no one_ \- has ever looked so happy to see him. Marian is radiant with joy, even though she comes to marry a criminal, an _outlaw_ with no claim to land or title. An outlaw who walked out on her once already.

She chose _him_, and it is a worse torture than any the Sheriff could devise.

Guy is at least far enough away that he does not have to hear the words they speak to each other, though her sweet laugh carries to him on the wind.

She smiles for Hood. She laughs for Hood, and tonight it is Hood who will slip that dress from her shoulders and take her, who will touch her and taste her. Her body bared for him, smooth alabaster skin and dark curls and the way she gasps when she is surprised, that sharp little intake of breath—

He clenches his fists. These are the thoughts that got him in all of this trouble, made him think that just because she was beautiful she was also _good. _That she could offer him salvation.

Guy does not expect salvation anymore. He just wants to die faster rather than slower.

He just wants to _not watch_ as the woman he loves gives herself willingly to his enemy.

Hood kisses her, and Guy can't look away. He has kissed Marian, too, and he remembers her body stiff and unyielding, but she curves herself into the outlaw like it is their wedding night already, her hands cradling his face and one foot between his so there is no air between them.

She touches him like she wants him. Like she's been waiting.

Earlier, when she'd declared her love out loud, he thought that he could not possibly have heard correctly. Not Marian - good, kind, honest Marian, who had so many times assured him that she no longer felt anything for Robin Hood.

But he could not deny the light in her eyes when she said his name, and he cannot deny the way she looks now. The picture of a joyful bride as Hood takes her arm and they walk off towards the camp, towards their perfect future. Hood says something to her and she laughs, and the King of England, God curse his soul, looks at them fondly.

The golden boy and golden girl, together at last.

And Guy in black, dressed for the funeral this day should have been, dressed for the shadow he has become.

* * *

When the king said _we will feast in your honor_ he had not exaggerated. There is more food out here than any of them has seen in months, and better. Marian wonders how it is possible.

She and Djaq are the only women other than a handful of servants and slaves, and at first she is afraid that she will end up standing alone in a corner at her own wedding feast. After all, many of these men fought with Robin - _with my husband_, she thinks proudly - and she knows how he gets with old friends.

But he only has eyes for her. Even when the king himself comes to offer congratulations, Robin barely spares him a glance.

After everyone has taken second (and third) helpings of food (and wine), the music starts. It is simple music, fiddle and flute and some Saracen instruments she does not recognize, but the tune they play is full and fast and joyful.

Without a word, Robin offers her his hand. As soon as she takes it, he's off: they are whirling through the crowds, across the sand, and Robin puts his hands at her waist and spins her around in the air until she is dizzy and laughing. "Put me down!" she commands, a mock-fearsome expression on her face, and he complies just long enough to kiss her deeply, dipping her so low to the ground that she is only supported by his arms. He's still holding her there when he pulls away, grinning broadly and far too pleased with himself. Marian shakes her head, fighting back a smile, and he finally relents, setting her back on her feet.

And then they are off again, changing partners; she and Djaq are passed off to dance with Will and Much and John and even a deeply reluctant Allan, and it is this last man that Marian is most glad to see. Though she's known Much since childhood, it is Allan with whom she has spent so much time these past few months. It is Allan who knows her.

The music has slowed down some by the time she's handed off to him. "I'm not a good dancer," Allan warns, placing one hand gingerly at her waist, and taking her right hand in his left.

"Neither am I," Marian says. And it's true. She spent so much of her childhood learning other things - how to fight and how to swear and how to stitch a man's wounds - that other parts of her education had been rather neglected. Her education has turned out more useful, but she hopes that from now on, she will find more occasion for dancing than battlefield medicine.

"Are you glad, after all?" she asks after a few awkward steps.

"'Bout what?"

She just raises her eyebrows at him.

"Oh all right," he says, "look, of course I'm glad. I'm here eating this feast and dancing with you instead of tied up or dead."

"But are you glad to be with Robin again?" she persists. He gives her a look like maybe she's trying to trick him, but truly she is honest.

Truly, she wants to know if anyone else ever doubts. Not that she doubts Robin - but she wonders what their future will really look like. If the king will really return to England, and if things will improve if he does.

Allan says, slowly, "Yeah, I am. Like I said."

"But?"

"I'm still a peasant," he says. "There's nothing for me back in Nottingham, whether the king comes back or not. Even less if he does, I s'pose, because you lot will all run back to your manor houses and I'll still be a thief in the forest."

"Robin won't let that happen." Her voice is more confident than her heart, but even then, what she means is: _I won't let that happen_.

Allan shrugs. "Maybe not."

They dance for a few moments more, Marian deftly staying out of the way of Allan's feet. Finally she says it. "I can't watch them kill Guy," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Allan looks at her, long and even. "Yeah," he says, and she hears the reluctance in his voice to match hers. "Yeah, I figured."

For the rest of the dance they are silent, though every once in a while they look to each other for reassurance.

Marian can't regret Allan's betrayal. If things had ended differently she might have - but now, she is a little bit glad that he was in the castle, too. That he saw the same things she did. That his feelings about Guy are as complicated as hers.

When the dance ends, he bows to her and she says, for her own sake as much as his, "It'll be all right."

Allan approximates a smile, and says again, "We'll see."

He returns her to Robin's waiting arms, and her husband brushes the hair from her eyes. "That looked serious," he says, his voice still light.

Marian meets his gaze, blue and depthless blue, and she chooses her words carefully. "Allan is a good man."

Robin looks surprised. "I know that." His eyes search hers, looking for answers she does not have. Has never had. "Is everything all right?"

She considers for a minute, and cannot seem to settle on anything other than _yes, but—_

What is she afraid of? Here is everything she wants.

"He is worried," she says eventually, "about what will happen to him when the king returns."

"We won't be outlaws anymore," Robin says, taken aback that anything else could be in question.

"Yes, but where does that leave Allan?" she asks. "You are an earl, Robin, but he is a thief. He has only ever been a thief. And when we return to Locksley, what becomes of him?"

Marian is disappointed - if not surprised - when it becomes clear that Robin hasn't given this much thought. Still, he recovers admirably. Robin has always been a quick thinker. "You're right," he says, and the acknowledgement pleases her more than she'd like to admit. "We need to think of something for Allan." Oh, and that _we_. It wasn't too long ago that Robin was admonishing her for not following orders, and now _we need to think of something_, and Marian does love that.

She smiles at him then, and he smiles back, relief written plainly on his face. She wonders what he expected, but doesn't ask.

"Is that all?" he asks.

Her nod is not a lie; if it was not all it was at least _most_, and certainly all that Marian can put into words. The rest will have to wait, or die unspoken.

Robin grins in response. "Good," he says, and cups her cheek, presses a light, sweet kiss against her lips. "Then I believe we have some more dancing to attend to."

But this time, instead of steering her spinning through the feast, he leads her by the hand to the very edge of the fire's glow. Against the persistent beat of the music, Robin pulls her into his arms so her head rests against his chest. They move in small, slow circles in the half-darkness, watching the revelers and the flickering fire. No one pays them any mind. There is just his heartbeat and his arms around her, and somewhere distant, the sounds of laughter and music fading into the clear night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Note:** Hello again all! Thanks so much for the reviews - I've been out of town but I'll respond as soon as I get a chance. I wanted to get this out before I obsessed over it too much longer...

For those of you who are concerned for Guy, I'm afraid he's not going to get a happy ending - you may want to look elsewhere for that. Regardless of whether he survives, he's definitely not ending up with Marian, but there are loads of great stories about the two of them.

For those who've asked about an alternate season 3 - alas, I am terrible at plots, so this really will just be snapshots. I wish I had that kind of plotting ability, believe me.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! Next time: the journey back to Sherwood...

* * *

_Everything hot and cold at once, everything strong and soft, everything, everything._ (After the wedding)

* * *

Eventually Robin is carried off by Much and some old friends for drink and congratulations, and Marian is left alone, though smiling. She watches them from beneath one of the tents, and soon enough Djaq and Will come up to join her. It does not escape Marian's notice that they are holding hands.

"Congratulations," Djaq says. Will smiles. So often a silent shadow, his presence warm and reliable - Marian wonders what it's like inside his head. She strongly suspects there is more going on there than he lets on.

"Thank you," Marian replies, pleased. She wants to be accepted by Robin's gang, but she has not had the greatest success, at least so far. Her time in the forest hadn't gone exceptionally well.

"I hope - _we_ hope - that you will find great happiness together," Djaq begins. "My uncle's friend—"

"Bassam," Marian says, pleased to be in the loop for once. Djaq looks surprised, so she quickly clarifies. "Robin told me."

"Ah." Djaq doesn't look irritated at the interruption, to Marian's relief. "He would like to offer you and Robin - and the others, of course - a room in his home, for tonight and until you leave our city. Will and I will stay with him, and you may find it more - comfortable - as well."

Of that, she has no doubt. She has not seen Bassam's house herself, but she is sure she would rather sleep there than here, in a tent surrounded by thousands of crusaders. If nothing else, she thinks, color creeping up her cheeks, it will mean she and Robin might have a little more privacy.

Not that it would have _stopped_ her. They would just have had to be quiet.

"Djaq, that's lovely. Thank you," she says. "But is it safe to go through Acre after dark?"

Djaq shrugs, but there is a glint of humor in her eyes. "Not less safe than throwing yourself between your king and a traitor's sword."

For a second Marian just looks at her, then she laughs. Both of the outlaws look surprised at the sound, and she wonders just how reserved she has been with them. Not that she has had much to laugh about, these past five years.

Though Robin has always found reasons to laugh. Reasons to be merry. When he'd first come back from the Holy Land she'd resented him for it. How dare he take pleasure in the serious work of undermining the sheriff and feeding the poor? How _dare_ he find enjoyment amidst all of their suffering?

Yet it was Robin whose joy and energy drew so many to him, and Marian who worked alone, masked in the dead of night. Even if there is a darker edge to it - she wonders how often his laughter is only a cover for the memories he can't shake - she cannot deny that his warmth and humor have been to all of their benefit. She'll never tell him, but she thinks maybe he's been right the whole time.

"That will be wonderful," Marian says, putting her serious expression back in place. "I'll let Robin know, if you'll tell the others?"

At that, Djaq gives Will a meaningful look, and he nods and disappears back into the crowd. Marian raises her eyebrows.

"I wanted to speak with you privately," Djaq says.

This makes Marian unaccountably nervous. "All right," she says cautiously.

From her pockets Djaq pulls a small envelope, made of parchment and stuffed full of - something. Some herb? She hands it to Marian. "This is for you."

Marian turns it over in her hands, but there are no clues. She looks up at Djaq.

"It is a contraceptive," Djaq says frankly. "Drink a pinch of this mixed with water each evening, and you will not conceive a child."

Wide-eyed and speechless, Marian just nods. This isn't something she's even _thought_ about, and she's somewhere between horrified and grateful that Djaq did think of it. It isn't that she doesn't want children - she does, at least she _thinks_ she does, not that there is any choice in it - but carrying a child on the long journey back to England, or while living in Sherwood, doesn't sound ideal. She knew things like this existed - Matilda made such remedies - but she'd never thought of herself as a woman who might need it.

"I do not mean to be forward. I only hope that you and Robin will have all the children you desire _when the time is right_. I thought I would give you the choice." She pauses and looks Marian over, and her expression softens. "We are not close, but I hope that will change."

Marian tucks the packet into her bodice. "I hope so, too."

She and Djaq stand together in silence while Will collects the men, but it is a warm silence. Marian glances over at the other woman, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth, and thinks it might be nice to have a friend.

* * *

It is not a long journey to Bassam's house, and between the moonless dark and their long cloaks, no one pays them any attention.

The energy has run out of Robin's body. Today they all nearly died. Today they saved the king. Today he married Marian - twice. Today they arrested Gisborne. Today they all nearly died - today _Marian_ nearly died.

Robin faced untold horrors in this place. He spent five years wading waist-deep through the blood of Saracens and crusaders alike; he could no longer tell them apart when they lay finished on the ground, gaping holes in their chests. Men torn apart and dogs and limbs and _blood_, everywhere, and there are things that he cannot unsee, though he refuses to confront them in the daylight.

What he has learned in all of this is that he is not a man who is easily destroyed. He has seen men come back broken from the Holy Land, so broken that they do not recognize their own names. Robin left something of himself behind, but he hides the missing pieces behind thick walls of loyalty and bravado and _love_ \- love for Locksley, love for his gang, love for Marian.

Marian.

If Marian had died, he would not have been able to hide his darkness. He would be cast into shadow. Robin remembers what he was like last year, in those moments when he thought he had lost her: nothing left in him but the urge to kill. He has his bow, but Marian has all of the strength.

It is two miles from Richard's camp to Bassam's house, just under an hour's walk in the shifting sands, and Robin does not let go of Marian's hand.

* * *

Robin opens the door and Marian gasps. The room is massive, with ceilings that have to be twenty feet high, and a grand curtained bed in the center. Lit candles glitter on side tables and windows high in the ceiling are open to the night air. Robin lets out a low whistle.

"Robin, this is too much," she says quietly. "We cannot - he must have given us the best room in the house. We cannot accept this."

Djaq's voice, behind them: "But you must," she says. Robin and Marian turn, surprised, to see her: her footsteps make no sound in the hall. "We are a hospitable people. It pleases Bassam to be generous to those who have been so generous to me."

Marian starts to protest, but Robin cuts her off with a look. "Thank you, Djaq. This means a lot."

"Yes, thank you," Marian adds. "Truly."

Djaq smiles at them. "Sleep well, my friends." And she continues silently down the hall, though she turns back halfway to say: "And that is only the _second_-best room in the house."

When Marian turns back to Robin, she's hiding a grin.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says, but when he keeps raising his eyebrows, she sighs, letting out a laugh alongside it. "I'm wondering if she is also sharing her room tonight."

Robin laughs. "Good for her, if she is. I think they've earned it."

Marian looks up at him, her face set and serious. She places her hands on either side of his face, and pulls him down to her for a long, slow kiss. When she finally releases him, she says, "I think _we've_ earned it, my husband."

"I couldn't agree more." Robin scoops her up and she laughs in surprise as her feet leave the ground. He carries her through the entrance, kicking the door shut behind them, and sets her down a few feet from the bed. "That's better," he says, tenderly brushing a few runaway strands of hair out of her eyes.

Keeping his hands there, gently cupping her face, he leans in to kiss her. She breathes him in, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss, and feels him sigh into her mouth. Kisses follow kisses, each deeper and more desperate than the last, tongue and teeth and _lips_, chapped from the sun and insistent, and when Marian remembers that they almost died today she pulls him even closer, eliciting a low groan from him in response.

"Robin," she says, breathless, and he nods, their faces flushed and lips red. Her fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, lifting it up over his head to touch the skin beneath. She traces the line of his scar from his last trip to the Holy Land, and all of the smaller marks that bear witness to a life lived by the sword.

Marian knows his scars so well. That long, brutal line from the wound that nearly killed him - the wound that brought him back to her. The stitches she'd put in his shoulder not so long ago. A puncture on his back he'd gotten jumping out of a tree on a dare, a cut on his right arm that had gotten infected and healed badly when he was thirteen or so. She could tell him his life story from these scars, and she traces them with her fingers but wonders how they would feel against her lips.

She has seen him, even touched him without his shirt before, but this time it feels different. Charged. Marian can feel the muscles in his stomach contract every time her fingers brush his skin, and when she places her palms flat against his chest he hisses like her touch is scalding.

She tilts her head to the side and reaches for him again, pressing closer, closer. His hands are in her hair, pulling out pins and letting them fall to the floor. She cannot hear them hit the stone over the sound of their breathing, their hearts beating in perfect tandem.

After the pins are out, he stops kissing her just long enough to run his hands through her dark curls so they fall loose across her back. Once her hair is down, Robin takes her by the shoulders and turns her around, and she shivers to feel his breath at the nape of her neck, his fingers tugging at the ties of her dress.

Twenty-four hours ago she thought he was dead, twelve hours ago they both were. Maybe they are. Maybe this is heaven.

Everything hot and cold at once, everything strong and soft, everything, everything.

* * *

When he unlaces her dress, his fingers shake.

Gently, gently. Once the laces are loosened he tugs at the heavy fabric, pulling the sleeves down her arms, his fingers skimming the sides of her body as he slides the fabric down her hips. He takes her hands and helps her step out of the gown, leaving it a dusty white puddle on the floor.

The shift beneath is thin, but it covers her from shoulders to calves. Still, it takes him a moment; a moment while he stares at her like he cannot believe she is there. Finally Marian takes his face in her hands, pulling him down to kiss her again, bringing him back to himself. That light touch, her calloused palms on his face, awakens something in him.

Robin shudders in her arms, then picks her up and moves so her back is pressed up against the wall, and the chemise rides up to her thighs as she wraps her legs around his hips. Closer. He nips lightly at her earlobe, then traces his lips along her neck, down the vein that throbs there and she moans and it is all _too much_, all at once.

He stops.

Marian looks bleary-eyed at him, her hands still tangled in his hair, lips bitten red. "Robin," she says, a question in her voice.

Robin is dizzy and desperate with wanting, and he doesn't know how to say it, other than _God, you have no idea how long I've waited_, and he can hear her answer in his head, _oh, I think I have some idea_. He chokes on the words.

He pulls away enough so that Marian's feet drop back to the ground, but he does not walk away. She is still caught between his body and the wall, and he presses his forehead to hers, cupping her face in his hands. Remembering to breathe.

"I love you," he says roughly, like it takes something from him to say it. Maybe it does.

She gives him a smile like a benediction and whispers, "I love you," and the whole world is in her eyes.

After he finally lifts her chemise over her head - Marian lifting her arms obligingly, with a quirk of her lips that says she is not shy of him - he cannot even touch her for fear that she will disappear if he does. That this entire day will turn out to be a fever dream. After all, he's had this dream before.

They are a breath away from each other but untouching, and his hands flutter near the bare skin at her waist, uncertain and wanting, wanting; his long fingers radiating heat. She is so impossibly beautiful.

He traces his thumb over the scar on her belly, not daring to look anywhere else. This part of her body feels safe. He knows the skin between her breasts and her waist; he remembers when she got that scar, and once or twice in the forest his hands made it just this far. This is familiar, this is safe.

Robin has seen naked women before, and he does not know what it is about Marian that has him so entirely undone. He wants to take her in, to acquaint his eyes and hands and lips with every inch of her body, but he knows the limits of his self-control.

Finally, when his heartbeat has settled to a pace only twice its normal speed, he lets himself look at her. Tall, and thinner than usual from the long journey - he hadn't noticed before - and skin the color of cream, with scars to match his own. Her eyes, bluer than sapphires and deeper, desire written all over her.

"What?" Marian asks, her voice a husky whisper, and for the first time she looks uncertain. She crosses her arms over her chest.

"You're beautiful," he says, and he smiles to watch the blush spread up her body.

Marian smirks back, coy and clever as she pulls him toward her. Her fingers fumble at his belt. "I've shown you mine," she teases, and Robin laughs out loud. Marian's always been stuck with men, but he's never heard her be bawdy before.

Then again, she is always full of surprises.

He stays her hands, just for a moment, and she gives him a curious look.

"Are you nervous?" she asks. She doesn't sound accusing or incredulous, even knowing his past.

Robin nods just once, just a little. He is well past lying. "Desperately." His voice cracks as he says it. "Aren't you?"

Marian cocks her head, considering, then wraps her arms around his neck again. And her voice, smooth and sweet and always so sure. She says into his ear: "Not in the slightest."


	6. Chapter 6

**Note:** This chapter got weirdly long! I may go back and edit tomorrow, but I needed to just knock this out soo. That's how it is. Hope you like it - it's mostly angst, a little Guy, a lot of kissing - reviews are always appreciated :)

Also, this is maaaybe even more pedantic than the "Your Highness" thing, but I am trying to be realistic-ish about timelines; it took months to travel to the Holy Land (and days just to get to Portsmouth!) and this chapter reflects that. I am having them take a boat from Acre to England, which wouldn't have happened, but I just couldn't make them march through all of France after what they've been through...

* * *

_It is always them, after all. Being with her is like breathing. _(The journey back to Nottingham)

* * *

They are guests in Bassam's house for a week as they prepare for their journey back to England.

The days are long, spent poring over maps and correspondence back at the crusaders' camp. Robin and his men, along with a handful of soldiers, will begin the journey home first while King Richard negotiates a truce with Saladín. Once in Nottingham, they will arrest the Sheriff and hold him - and Gisborne - until the king arrives for their trials. When the king says it, everything sounds so simple.

Richard's confidence in a positive outcome strikes Robin as overly optimistic, but it is not his place, and in any case he does not wish to be drafted into staying for the peace talks. He has spent enough time in the Holy Land.

So he listens and offers opinions where they are asked for. He writes letters and leads meetings, talks to the king, talks to the men. In the blistering heat, even the shade from the tents provides little relief.

No, the days are not long: they are _interminable_. Maps and meetings and talking, and Robin is a man of action.

But in every silence, there is Marian.

He'd spent thousands of hours dreaming of her. When Much told her that Robin said her name at night, he had meant _every_ night, and Robin is terribly good at dreaming. He spent ten years memorizing her body as he slept, but no dream could have prepared him; already his memories of dream-Marian have been rewritten.

In a week it feels like he has discovered her. The way she trusts him, her faith in him absolute. Her smooth, clear skin. Her hip bones sharp and her belly soft between them, and the scar there, a scar he has learned with his fingers and his lips. Her fingertips pressing into his back as she cries out; she'd scratch him if she weren't too practical for long nails.

His name, whispered into the dark. "Robin, _please-_oh-"

Lush and soft and heat, hands and mouths and the way her body arches toward him, and now that he knows what she tastes like how can he ever be satisfied?

He had been chaste since he returned from the war, and that is all, but his body acts like Marian is the only woman he's ever known. He thinks about her constantly, and even the pauses between words are long enough to distract him. In some ways it was easier before, when all he had hope of from her was a brief, sweet kiss. Now he has to sit still for hours when he could be making love to her, and that is its own kind of torture.

Marian's been keeping busy during the day, like all of them. She knows the castle - and the Sheriff - better than anyone else here, and her recommendations are heard by soldier and king alike. Every time Robin ends up near her - as she plots and argues with men who are _men_, first of all, and who far outrank her regardless - he just watches her, trying to keep the grin from his face. Plenty of these men had heard him talk about Marian over the years, heard him say _fierce_ and _fire_ and _fight_, and now he just wants to say _I told you so. _Marian wins her battles.

He just doesn't want her in this one.

"It's too dangerous," he says to her one night, towards the end of their week in Acre. They are sitting in the interior courtyard of Bassam's house where all of Robin's gang have taken to spending time in the evenings. It is quiet, away from the street, the only sound the fountain bubbling in the center of the courtyard - and the occasional pigeon. There are chairs and tables to play cards, and though the furniture inside is more comfortable, they've all gotten used to seeing the stars at night. The sky is not so different here, and it is reassuring.

Marian sighs. "It has to be done."

He cannot deny it. "It does not have to be _you_."

"Who else, then?" she snaps. Her face reddens like it always does when they argue - that has not changed. "I am not some fragile thing."

Her calloused hands and strong arms bear witness to that. It's not that Robin thinks she's fragile - though he is struck sometimes by how _small_ she really is, how much smaller than him when she is in his arms - he just can't risk losing her again, after everything.

She cannot be the one to lure the sheriff out. He's tried to kill her enough times. She won't even have the element of surprise, since he knows she's the Nightwatchman. The sheriff knows all of their tricks.

"Allan could do it," he says half-heartedly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I doubt the Sheriff will even remember who Allan is." She's being sarcastic, but he's not sure she's wrong.

"I could do it."

She purses her lips.

"Maybe not," he concedes.

The solution occurs to both of them at the same time - or maybe it is the look of sudden surprise on Marian's face that tells him - but neither of them will say it. For their own reasons.

Robin isn't too good a man to admit that he just wants Gisborne dead. And Marian - he doesn't know what Marian wants. He'd rather not think about it.

There is a long silence, in which they both try to gauge the other's feelings. Finally Robin says, "We can't trust him."

This, he thinks, is _objectively_ true, but Marian shakes her head. "There is good in him."

"Less than a week ago he tried to kill you," Robin points out, and he is impressed with how mild his voice sounds, how deep he can bury his anger.

"He wouldn't really have done it," she says, but in her voice there is a ghost of a doubt.

Robin saw it happen, and in this at least he knows she is wrong - Gisborne would absolutely have killed her - but that's not the fight he wants to have right now.

"Somebody'll have to watch him." Robin is already going through the possibilities. Not Allan - not yet. Not Much, not John; maybe Will, but he doesn't think Djaq will go for that-

"I could." Marian's gaze is intense and she leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. "I'll stay back in the shadows, but I'm a better shot than anyone else in your gang. If something goes wrong—"

"Marian, _no_." He can't imagine why he thought this would be easier once they were married. Surely he didn't think Marian would actually settle down and listen to him?

"Why _not_? I'm the one who knows them. I'm the one who-"

She cuts off abruptly. Too abruptly. Robin's voice is low. "The one who _what_?"

Her frustration is visible in the set of her shoulders, the way she juts her chin. "I married you, Robin. I _love_ _you_. Guy is-" She throws her arms out, at a loss for words. "-complicated. But I never loved him." Marian stands up and crosses to him, crouching down in front of his chair. She takes his hands in hers. "You have to trust me."

He exhales through gritted teeth. Because that's the question, isn't it? When she insisted on staying in the castle for her father's sake, wasn't there a part of him that looked for another reason? And when she went _back_ \- yes, it saved them both, but there had to have been another way - a way that didn't involve her returning to Gisborne.

But he remembers her voice out in the desert. _Say the words, handsome._ Those nights in the forest, and the brief, stolen moments they shared after she went back to Nottingham. The look on her face as she waited for him at the altar: alight with joy.

The first time he kissed her, years ago, hidden beside the castle's stables after a fair. The _second_ first time he kissed her, after she'd nearly married Gisborne. Instead she'd come running out to him, and when she raced back to kiss him at the castle gates, he knew he'd won her back.

Women didn't kiss you like that unless they were yours.

Finally, he says, "I trust you." And he raises his eyes to meet hers, and her gaze is so open that he is ashamed for ever doubting.

It is always them, after all. They are a matched set, Robin and Marian. Being with her is like breathing.

"Then we're agreed," Marian says, and he squeezes her hands.

Marian wins her battles.

* * *

And so she's the one who has to ask him, though she waits until they are on the ship back to England. It's a miserable place for all of them, but especially for Guy, who spends night and day tied up in the hold. Someone - one of the soldiers, occasionally Allan - brings him food and lets him use the bathroom, but he spends the rest of his day down in the dark with the cargo.

On their second day on board, she takes him lunch. That, at least, is no worse than what the rest of them get: an impossibly hard biscuit, salt pork. Marian cannot understand why they couldn't have something fresh only two days in, but when she asked John about it, he just shrugged and grunted and ate his salt pork.

Marian carries the food in on a wooden tray. Guy does not look happy to see her.

He is shackled at his ankles and wrists, and she takes out the key to set his hands free while he eats. Guy doesn't pick up the food. He just stares at her.

"It's your lunch," she says helpfully.

"Why you?" When he fixes that gaze on her, all sharp edges and ice-blue eyes, Marian feels like she is eighteen again, folding under his scrutiny. She should have fought when they came for her and her father.

Marian shifts her weight as the boat rocks beneath them. She will never get used to this. "I…have a favor to ask."

"Unbelievable," Guy snorts.

She ignores this. "When we get back to England, I - _we_ need you to help capture the sheriff."

"You can't possibly think I'll help you."

"You will if you want to live."

Guy sits up, interest lighting up his gaze. "You don't have that kind of authority."

"No," Marian admits. "But the king does. And if you help us, I'll speak to him—"

"So you're not promising me _anything_. The king doesn't even know."

The king _does_ know, in broad terms, though it's true that Marian hadn't mentioned the possibility of pardoning his would-be assassin. "If you don't do it, you have no chance at all," she says, and that, at least, is entirely true. If Guy doesn't help them, he'll be lucky to be hanged. Plenty of traitors face worse deaths.

Guy looks away from her and holds out his hands. Reluctantly, she locks the shackles back on him. "I'll let you think about it," she says, and for the first time she wonders if she was wrong. If Guy would rather die than help her, after all.

As she walks away, she hears his voice.

"Did you ever care about me at all?" As always, it is not a question so much as a command, and she responds automatically: stops in her tracks and waits. She does not turn around.

What answer can she give? Whatever she could have felt for him, in some other world, is in _this_ world too tied up with fear and anger. Maybe if Robin had died in the Holy Land, or if Guy had been more willing to change early on, or if Marian's father had died earlier and she had been more desperate - but who can say what their lives would have looked like if those things had come to pass?

"As I care for all people," she says finally, as gently as she knows how. "I did not love you, Guy. I could not. But I did care."

She turns to him then, and Guy looks stricken, although this cannot possibly surprise him.

"And I did believe in you." That, at least, is the truth, and she hopes he can hear it. "I believed that you could change. I believed that you could become a better man." She doesn't say, _I believed that you _wanted _to become a better man_, although that is also true. It seems a bridge too far.

"Like _him_," Guy sneers, and there is no question who he means.

Maybe it is pity that stirs her heart. Everything is so tangled up inside her, she cannot pull out a single strand to find where it leads. "Robin isn't perfect," she says, and he flinches when she speaks Robin's name. "But he fights on the right side."

Guy doesn't say anything.

And with that, Marian does leave. His gaze follows her as she climbs over the cargo, back up the stairs, into the bright light and the salt air.

* * *

It takes a few weeks, and then everything hits her all at once.

She is up on the deck of the ship when it happens. It's where they spend nearly all of their time - _all_ of them, she and Robin and the gang and the crew and the other passengers - except when it rains hard enough to drive them into the cabin or the hold.

_The_ cabin - where all of them are sleeping, she and Robin, Will and Djaq, Much and Allan and John and Carter and a host of Richard's men, and it is _not_ a large space, nor comfortable. At night she and Robin commandeer a blanket in the corner, but with the tossing and turning of the boat, they all end up in the same pile by the morning. Robin at least does a good job of shielding her - no one's yet rolled onto her.

She supposes it is still better than sleeping on the deck with the crew.

Perhaps not. On the deck she could see the stars.

If Marian thought it was miserably crowded in Sherwood or the castle, well - here is something else.

Early on, though, Carter showed her a spot up at the prow of the ship, a small place surrounded by equipment and well hidden from the eyes of everyone else on board. There is enough space for her to sit, and perhaps one other. Once or twice it has been Djaq, once Allan, once Carter, on that first day.

She does not show Robin until the morning it happens. He sees her wander off after another breakfast of tack and salt pork, and when he asks her where she's heading, she cannot lie.

So she shows him.

It requires a lot of ducking and climbing for her and even more for long-legged Robin, but finally they are both inside, Robin's arm around her shoulders.

In this space it is quiet. Wood on three sides and the ocean on the other. All she can hear is the sea.

"Is this where you've been going?" Robin asks.

Marian nods, looking out ahead. The sky is endless.

And he just holds her a little closer, and suddenly something heavy settles on Marian's chest, bearing down on her, and without knowing how it happens she finds that she is heaving sobs. Shoulders shaking, she cries so hard she cannot breathe. When she tries to inhale it feels like choking.

When he feels her shuddering against him Robin turns to her, eyes wide. "Marian, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head. What can she say? Everything. Nothing. It is unspeakable.

Robin pulls her closer into him, presses his lips to her forehead and whispers something she cannot hear. Shh, shh.

She remembers feeling comforted when Robin held her after her father died. She remembers feeling anchored. That's what she wants, and she curls into him, fisting her hand into the soft fabric of his shirt, pressing her face into his chest.

It is impossible for her to put this into words - this sudden desperate sadness - when they have _won_, when they are heading home together, married, to prepare the way for their king. How terribly selfish of her, to feel like she is still in mourning.

Losing her home, losing her father. How hard it was to live in the forest, to be part of Robin's gang but not _really_ part of it.

And the long journey to Acre. Nights tied up in stables, Guy's constant looming presence. Guy, asking even when he wasn't demanding. Asking, even in the silence.

The aching loneliness when the sheriff told her Robin was dead.

She had believed it for months. It had taken them two months to travel to the Holy Land, Marian believing all the while that Robin was dead back in Nottingham, and all of his men with him. Robin and her father, both dead. Both following her through dreams, on the rare occasions that she slept long enough to have them, and it was a relief when they did appear: in death, Robin and her father were a greater comfort to her than anything left on the earth.

God, when she saw him out there in the desert. Tied to a stake, like the martyr he apparently strove to become, and she cursed him for being such an idiot, but she loved him even more.

In that moment Marian accepted her death, and thanked the Lord that she would die beside him. Better to die here with him than in England, alone.

But here they are: alive, married, mostly whole. Had she ever, at any point after Robin returned to Nottingham, truly believed that they would end up here? She spent that week in Acre in a haze, overcome: the power she discovered in herself during the day, when she consulted with kings on battle plans; long nights with Robin, _finally_, skin to skin in that grand room, the eastern stars shining in through the window as they made love. She had been so consumed with all of it that it had been easy to forget before and after.

She spent _months_ thinking Robin and her father were both dead, and all through that journey - a journey long enough to kill thousands of healthy men - she did not cry. Not ever.

Until now, and it seems she has a debt to pay.

Marian cries until the torrent subsides and her chest hurts, until her uneven breathing is the only sign of her distress. And Robin doesn't say anything: he just holds her to him, his arms tight and his chin resting on her shoulder. His shirt is soaked through with her tears, but even that cool damp cannot disguise the heat of his skin.

He is alive, and so is she.

Waves crash against the side of the boat though the water is smooth, but when she kisses him she feels something in her settle and calm. His hands pull her into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips as he leans against the wall. "Marian," he says quietly, between kisses, "Are you sure you're all right?"

She nods. "We're alive," she says simply.

It is a small space but not _so_ small, and they make good use of it.

They are there still, wrapped up in each other, hours later when one of the sailors calls: "Land!"

The shores of England are glorious green in the distance. They are nearly home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Note**: Well, the lesson of this week is that I should not try to have a plot, because I am legitimately terrible at it! That said, I like some of the dialogue in this one, so here it is. What a nasty beast the sheriff is.

Next week, Guy's trial, and then back to 100% only fluff; I have seen the error of my ways. Also, I think I am revising my earlier statement; this is looking like it'll be 10 chapters, yikes.

**Thanks**: to all of you who've left favorites or reviews - I appreciate every one! (Even the strange ones about how much you like Guy - don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're here, but I think there are other stories that would make you happier...) I especially appreciate those of you who take the time to leave suggestions, haha, as I've decided to give Guy another chance because of you. I was stuck for what to do here, and am quite suggestible, so things should work out all right for him. I did promise nothing bad would happen in this story :)

* * *

_"Look at that," he says pleasantly. "A pretty ring on her finger. Is it yours, Gisborne?"_ (The confrontation with the Sheriff)

* * *

Things have only gotten worse in Nottingham.

It shouldn't have been a surprise - the only people who tried to help have been gone for months - but it's still hard to come home to. The villagers thin and ragged at the tail end of winter. By now they should've started planting, but it's clear that nothing has been done; the fields are fallow.

They don't dare help, not yet. Not until the sheriff's been dealt with. Until then, the best they can do is go by night, in disguise, to pile extra food in storerooms and stuff bags of coins into corners where villagers will notice them and the sheriff's men won't.

Otherwise they stay in the camp, and after weeks of travel in close quarters, Sherwood finally feels big enough for all of them. Marian and Robin sleep out in the woods, apart from everyone else, under the willow tree he'd shown her months before. After months in captivity with the sheriff and weeks on the ship, it is a relief to feel the night air on her face.

The privacy is nice, too, she thinks as Robin's hand glides up her leg, pushing her skirts up and rolling her onto her back in one smooth motion. He settles himself between her hips and captures her mouth with his, swallowing Marian's gasp as he enters her.

The nearness of him, the heavy warm presence of his body next to hers, is a comfort that cannot be overstated. Every time he touches her it feels like a gift, that they should have survived so much to end up here together.

In the day it is hard for her to remember that they are married, that it is not a secret anymore. She can hold his hand. She can kiss him, though that comes with certain risks: Allan will make a snide remark; Much will mutter discontentedly under his breath; one of Richard's men will snicker or whoop.

Usually it's still worth it.

Guy is under constant guard at the main camp, and he has not yet agreed to help them. Marian quickly discovers that his attitude is made worse by seeing her and Robin together and therefore does her best to avoid acting married in front of Guy.

This, of course, is entirely obvious to Robin, who then goes out of his way to touch her until she finally confronts him.

"Do you want him to help us or not?" she snaps.

Robin tilts his head like he has to think about it, and she just knows that he's about to make some clever comment, so she adds, "Remember that if he doesn't do it, it'll have to be me."

That quiets him. "Fine," he grinds out.

She sighs. "Robin, remember—"

"You married me. I know." He pulls her into his embrace. "There were a few close calls, though," he says into her hair.

"Such is the life we've chosen." She's glad that part of their life is over: the part where she's one missing sheriff or sick father away from being married to Guy of Gisborne. Whatever else may happen, that's off the table.

The sheriff is holed up in the castle all the time now - the long absence of Robin Hood, and (Marian suspects) the loss of Guy have rendered him even more paranoid than before. The gates of the town are rarely open, and any townspeople with the means left long ago. And so they wait: for the gates to open, for the sheriff to be vulnerable. For Guy to agree to help them.

Marian and Allan take to sitting with Guy in the afternoons. At first they just talk to one another _near_ Guy while he seethes, but after a few days he starts occasionally contributing. Usually just to say something rude - about Robin, about Marian, about the king - but still. Contributing.

And then one day, someone comes riding from Nottingham. A teenaged boy, on back of a stolen horse, yelling for Robin Hood as he races through Sherwood.

They hear him off in the distance. "Robin Hood! We know you're back. The gates are open! The gates are open!"

They look around at each other, sitting around at the camp.

"Could be a trap," John says.

"'S _probably_ a trap," Allan corrects.

"Still." Robin looks around, considering.

Much: "Robin, you can't be serious-"

"Will, can you find that boy?" Robin interrupts. "The one who was calling out."

Will nods and runs out of the camp, towards the voice.

Robin hates it - _hates_ it - but he turns to Marian and says simply, "You're up."

* * *

Marian goes by herself to the cave where Guy is tied up and stands before him.

He is immediately alert. He's been listening, but only just; the cave muffles most of the sound from outside, no matter how loudly they speak.

"Now is the time, Guy," she says, sitting on a rock near him so their eyes are level. "This is your chance to decide who you are. Who you want to be."

Her eyes are bright even in the dim of the cave, and Guy - Guy has had a lot of time to think. About Marian, about Vaisey, about Allan and Robin and the rest of those idiots in the forest, fighting for justice.

About, as Marian says, the man he wants to be.

For years, Marian was his only enticement to goodness. If he can't have her - and Hood's ring on her finger is testament to that immutable fact - is it still worth it?

It's as if she reads his mind. "I couldn't offer you salvation, Guy," she says softly. "That was never in my power. Only God can do that. And whether you care about the king or not, you cannot deny that Vaisey is an evil man."

No. No, he cannot deny that. Vaisey's cruelty is also an immutable fact.

In his life, Guy has been certain of very few things. Two of them: that Sheriff Vaisey is evil, and that Marian of Knighton is good. He has had many, many chances to choose good, and now someone - God or Marian or luck - has seen fit to give him one more opportunity.

"I'll do it." He stares at the ground.

She comes into his view as she kneels in front of him, resting her hands on her knees. "Guy—"

"I said I'll do it," he growls, and she looks stung. He meets her eyes. "Are you coming with me?"

* * *

There is a crowd outside the gates, waiting to enter. From the voices in the crowd it seems that the villagers have been kept out of the town for more than ten days, the longest time yet. They are all desperate for something: medicine or shoes or knives, any one of the many things they all depend on Nottingham to provide.

They don't have a good plan - _half a plan_, Robin said, as usual - but they have Robin Hood and his gang and twenty of the king's best soldiers.

And they have Guy of Gisborne.

Robin is standing a little ways apart from the rest of them, talking to Marian in hushed tones. "You can change your mind," he says, like he wants her to. "I can go in there instead."

This time she does kiss him, not caring who's watching. "You're too valuable to the cause, my husband," she says, only half teasing.

His grip on her arm tightens. "Don't say that. Marian, if you're in danger, _get out_. He's not worth it."

She doesn't know if he means Guy or the sheriff, but it doesn't matter. "We have to do this," she says quietly.

"I can't lose you," says Robin, and they both hear the last word, _again_, even though it goes unspoken.

"I'll be careful."

As she speaks, the crowds before them surge toward the gates, and she holds his hand tight in hers. "It's time," she says, over the growing din.

"Marian-"

"You have a job to do," she reminds him. "That's how you'll keep me safe."

Robin's eyes look desperate, and she realizes in that moment that he's barely let her out of his sight since the Holy Land. Even when she went for walks alone, there had been movement in the trees that was not from any animal.

No one ever said it would be easy.

But fear doesn't suit him, and she won't play to it. There is too much to do for that kind of fear. "I love you," she says, and though she's not sure he can even hear her, he mouths the words back. Their joined hands are separated by the movement of the townspeople. And then, mostly to herself: "I'll see you soon."

* * *

Through the halls of the castle, she is always fifteen paces behind him. Ducking into corners when she needs to - throwing punches when she needs to - but always close enough to keep Guy in view.

There aren't nearly as many guards as there ought to be, so she assumes Robin and the others have been successful in creating a massive distraction.

It should be easy. Find the sheriff. Tie him up. Leave. They've got a vial of something Djaq concocted, so if they can get the sheriff in a room by himself, Djaq swore up and down it would put him to sleep for hours. If it doesn't work, well, Marian's got a good right hook.

From somewhere, Vaisey's voice. It echoes through the stone halls, and it is impossible for Marian to tell where it comes from. Guy stops in his tracks.

"I know where he is," Guy says.

He leads her down hallways she's forgotten about, into the warren of fortified rooms in the eastern part of the castle. Guy could easily trap her in these rooms. He could easily go through with his earlier attempt on her life. She can't hear the sheriff anymore, and bile rises in her throat.

"Where are we?" she asks, her voice carrying down the hall to Guy. He doesn't say anything.

_Steady_, Marian tells herself. She is armed this time. She has her bow, and the hairpin dagger Robin gave her years ago, and her father's short sword at her waist.

Her mind is at war with itself. _He could still kill you, but he probably won't._

She'd felt so confident when she told Robin that Guy could be trusted.

Marian knows this is exactly what Robin _didn't_ want: for the entire plan to hinge on Guy's choosing the right path. And yet.

They come to an unmarked door deep within the castle, and Guy stops outside of it. "Here," he says. Without further comment, he breaks the handle off the door and kicks it in.

And there is Sheriff Vaisey, standing in the center of the room, sword at the ready.

"Good of you to stop by," he sneers.

Guy says, "It's over," and pull his own sword from its sheath.

Marian stays close to the door, covering Guy. The sheriff's gaze rests on her left hand where it holds the grip of her bow. "Look at that," he says pleasantly. "A pretty ring on her finger. Is it yours, Gisborne?"

Guy grunts in response.

"Didn't think so." Vaisey looks at Marian and sniffs. "Robin Hood's whore, finally an honest woman? Still not yours, though."

She keeps her aim steady. "Ignore him, Guy," she says.

"It must torture you," Vaisey continues, starting to circle Guy, Marian's arrow trained on him all the time. "Thinking about it. Such a pretty girl." His eyes rest on Marian for just a split second. "Such a _disobedient_ girl. Makes you wonder what she's like in bed, eh, Gisborne?" He winks nastily at the other man. "You've thought about it, I'll bet."

Guy's jaw twitches. _Hold steady_, she thinks.

"I warned you, Gisborne. Lepers."

"Guy-"

"_Be quiet_," hisses Guy.

Marian is quiet.

"Very _good_," the sheriff says. "Now she listens to you."

Guy points his sword at the sheriff. "_Shut up._"

The sheriff, to Marian's breathless surprise, shuts up.

And they stand there, the three of them, and in the stone chamber it is silent except for the sound of their breathing.

There is nothing to be done. She cannot shoot Vaisey, nor subdue him without Guy's help.

She doesn't know why she is surprised that it came down to this. Of course, in the end, Nottingham's fate would turn on the choices of Guy of Gisborne.

"You left me for dead," says Guy, his voice dangerous and low. "You ran back here to Nottingham like a _coward_, leaving me to arrest and execution."

Hope stirs in her heart.

Vaisey shrugs and smiles, the ruby in his tooth glittering. "Yes, well, no reason for both of us to die."

He is stupid to be so callous.

"You've done it before. Traded my life for a bag of rocks."

Discomfort grows on the sheriff's face. "They were very important rocks." Guy grimaces at that, and Vaisey hurriedly continues, "But you're not dead!"

Guy lowers his sword. There, a flash of triumph in Vaisey's eyes, but instead Guy says: "Why am I not dead?"

Vaisey looks confused by the question, but Marian knows. _Oh, Guy._

"Robin Hood has had months to kill me, but here I am. The king could've killed me in the Holy Land, but he didn't."

"I don't see where you're going with this," says Vaisey, but he does, he does. She can see it in him, the fear in his eyes.

It feels so good to see Sheriff Vaisey afraid.

And it takes only a split second of weakness - Guy's looking back at Marian, just for a moment - for Vaisey to take his own sword - and swing.

"_Guy_," Marian cries.

And she lets her arrow fly.

Her aim is true. It lands in Vaisey's right bicep, forcing his shoulder back, making him drop his sword.

In a flash she sees the irony: that only a few months earlier, it was Guy with the sword and Robin with the arrow, and Marian nearly dead.

Guy is still looking at Marian, his expression disbelieving, but she hisses, "_Vaisey_," and Guy stalks over to where his former master lies writhing on the ground.

"You wouldn't," Vaisey says, his voice strained. "You can't kill me. Prince John—"

"We know," Marian says, coming up to stand behind Guy. "We don't need to kill you." She looks up at Guy, and he hesitates, _will he never learn_—

And then he punches Vaisey, and the sheriff collapses fully.

"Good arm," she says.

Guy glances at her. "Good shot."

* * *

They carry the sheriff out - well, Gisborne carries the sheriff out, thrown over his shoulder, completely undignified, and Marian follows behind - and Robin lights up when he sees them.

The yard has been thrown into chaos - villagers and townspeople, the bodies of some unfortunate allies of the sheriff on the ground, Richard's men in full uniform scattered throughout the square.

Already the sheriff's guards have been rounded up and thrown, at least temporarily, into the dungeons. Robin expects most of them will leave shortly - there are so few men who are truly loyal to the sheriff. Most of these men were pulled from their homes and forced to work for Vaisey, and will be glad to denounce him and return to their wives and children. (And, Robin hopes, their crops and livestock, considering the sorry state of the fields in Nottinghamshire.)

And now the final piece of the puzzle is here: Sheriff Vaisey, bound and gagged, unconscious on the ground. "People of Nottingham," Robin calls, and every man, woman, and child in the square turns to him. He pulls down his hood and the crowd gasps - Marian rolls her eyes, and he winks at her. All around him, he hears people whispering his name.

It's not the worst thing in the world, being Robin Hood.

"The King of England is on his way to Nottingham," he says, and the whispers crescendo. "Sheriff Vaisey will be tried for his crimes against you. Until that time, we ask for your help."

A man calls out: "What can we do?"

All eyes are on Robin, and Marian and Gisborne behind him, carrying the sheriff. "We must hold the castle. Any able-bodied man who is willing to fight will stay here to ensure that Prince John does not take any action before the king returns. We must keep the sheriff alive and secure until then, and we cannot do it alone."

"What about _him_?" It's the same man, and this time, he's pointing at Gisborne.

Right. He hadn't thought about that. He looks to Marian, and as usual, she comes to his rescue.

"Guy of Gisborne captured the sheriff," Marian says, her voice clear, ringing out in the yard. "He fights with us now." In that moment, she has all of the confidence her father never found, all the confidence that in Robin is just bravado. He is dazzled by her.

"He killed my boy!" a woman cries out, and behind her someone else, "He stole my mother's necklace," and the voices build to a roar until even Robin cannot speak out over them.

Gisborne pulls Marian to him and whispers in her ear. Her eyes go wide and she says something urgently back to him. The crowd begins to press in.

Marian's eyes meet Robin's, and there is something in them that he does not recognize.

Robin yells, "Hey!"

The crowd starts to quiet, and then Marian speaks. "He will stay under guard in the castle," Marian says, looking up at Gisborne. "Until the king returns to try him."

Gisborne steps back from Vaisey's unmoving body, and Marian moves in to take his place, standing guard over the sheriff.

Gisborne holds his hands out.

"Tie him up," says Marian, her voice quiet and heavy.

It is Much who steps up to do it, binding Gisborne's wrists and using the end of the rope to lead him away. Little John picks Vaisey up and follows after, and so go the rest of Richard's men. They will see that Gisborne and Vaisey are secure and unreachable.

The crowd starts to cheer, and Robin wants to feel that triumph, wants it desperately.

But instead, he sees bodies on the ground - _you said you wouldn't shed any more blood_ \- and Marian, looking lost - and the people of Nottingham so desperate for hope that they think _this_ is winning.

They have a long way left to go.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes: **This one was done quite quickly! Thanks again to all of you who've left reviews. Anyway I'm much happier with this chapter than I've been with the last couple, there's a nice mix of fluff and seriousness; I hope you enjoy it! As always, please let me know what you think.

* * *

_"They're thanking you. Enjoy it."_ (some fluff, and the trial of Guy of Gisborne)

* * *

The castle is more crowded than Robin's ever seen it: the people of Nottinghamshire took his request seriously, and word's been spreading. Every few minutes someone new comes in.

Robin's gang is all together in the Great Hall. Richard's men are guarding the sheriff - and Gisborne - which makes him a little uncomfortable, but his gang seem glad of it. Djaq and Will have already disappeared to somewhere, and Much is happily eating some of the food he helped cook. None of the townspeople have eaten so well in months; true to form, Vaisey had been hoarding food in the castle while his people starved in the villages.

Now that Gisborne and Vaisey are out of sight, it is easier for Robin to forget his earlier concerns. They are all here, they are all safe. An hour earlier, they'd received a message from the king: he is only days away. They only have to hold things together here for a few more days, and then everything can go back to normal.

Whatever normal looks like. It's been so many years since Robin's life could be described as _normal_.

As evening falls, the former outlaws get ready to sleep. John and Allan take the first watch, along with a group of villagers; the rest of them wander off - to claim one of the many now-vacant bedrooms, or just a quiet corner somewhere in the hall.

Marian tugs at Robin's hand, pulling him away from the group.

"I don't want to stay here," she says, urgent and low. "Please."

He doesn't blame her. The castle is full of memories even for him, and he never lived here - was never held here against his will.

"We can go back to the camp, if you like," he says, though he'd been looking forward to a real bed. Maybe a bath. Marian matters more than any that.

Looking away from him, she runs a hand up and down his arm, and after a minute he catches her hand and presses it to his lips.

"I want to go home." She sounds so young, and so _tired_. She steps into his arms and he holds her there quiet. Knighton? It's ash, and no one's put anything on the land. Robin's given some thought to it - rebuilding the house and offering it to Will and Djaq, maybe, or Allan - but that's far in the future, after everything else has been resolved.

And, he supposes, there is Locksley. Whatever happens with Gisborne, the manor is Robin's once again, or as good as, with the king on his way. She'd spent plenty of time there as a girl. He can picture it so clearly: Marian at seven years old, darting from room to room and giggling while their fathers tried to work. At ten, staying with them every time her father was away in London, now that her mother had passed away; at thirteen hiding at Locksley to avoid her embroidery. At sixteen, sneaking up to Robin's room at night, telling him some story she'd heard in town, sitting so close to him that her laughter reverberated in his chest.

That house contains so much of their shared past, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine their future in it, too.

Marian looks up at him. "Let's go home, Robin."

* * *

What's incredible is that the house is in perfect condition. It's been empty for months, but Thornton - it must've been Thornton, who else would go to this kind of trouble for an absent master - has kept the floors clean and the corners dusted, and it even _smells_ good.

More importantly, it _doesn't_ smell like Gisborne. It had for a while, something that Robin had found deeply distressing. No more. Now all is right, and Locksley Manor smells like roasted chicken and woodfire. The lamps are lit, and the room glows warmly.

And Marian is here. Her eyes dart around the room, and Robin cannot read what is in them.

"I am glad to be here," she says, squeezing his hand.

"But?"

"I was very nearly mistress of this house under rather…different circumstances." She pauses to glance up at him, and Robin tries to keep his expression from clouding over, but he doubts he's successful. "It's strange."

It's not her fault. Not her fault that Gisborne had swooped in here in Robin's absence while he was protecting the king, took over his house and his lands and his village and very nearly his wife.

"Well, we'll just have to make it feel like home again," Robin says. He is not going to brood over Gisborne anymore. Not when Gisborne is locked up in the castle and Robin is reinstated at Locksley, and married to the woman they both love. It doesn't seem sporting.

Thornton appears in person then, coming out of the kitchen. "Master Robin!" he cries, and Robin smiles broadly and embraces him.

"Thornton," he says. "I see you've kept up the place."

Thornton looks deeply gratified. "It had gotten a bit out of sorts, but when I heard you'd returned, I rounded everyone up to get the house ready."

"Everyone?" Marian asks.

"Lady Marian!" the servant exclaims, as though he's just noticed her. "Yes. The other servants, of course, but the whole village turned out to help. They are very glad to have Master Robin back. And I understand congratulations are due." He offers Marian a bow that manages to be both awkward and warm.

Robin slips his hand into hers, and they turn to smile at each other.

"Thank you, yes," Marian says.

"I'm not surprised of course," Thornton adds. "The way you two used to run around. Only surprised it took so long, if you don't mind my saying."

Robin puts his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. She clearly _does_ mind - it wasn't because of her that it took so long - but she gives Thornton a smile that's genuine enough if a little thin on the ground.

"Not at all," she says graciously.

Thornton gives one more stiff little bow, then says, "Did you dine at the castle?" Robin nods, and Thornton says, "Then if you don't need anything else, Master Robin, I'd best be getting home to my wife." His voice rises a little at the end - a question - and Robin wonders what Gisborne demanded of Thornton these past few years. For as long as Robin can remember, Thornton has lived in a cottage out back of the main house with his family.

Robin waves him off. "Of course. Go!"

As soon as Thornton's out of the house, Robin turns back to Marian. "All right?"

"It _is_ good to be back." Having settled in a little, she looks lighter - happier. She grins at him and adds, "And now that we're alone, I have some ideas for how to improve the manor-"

"Oh really?" Robin raises one skeptical eyebrow.

"Mmm. They're gone, of course, they were at Knighton, but you should have seen all the notes I made." Marian laughs.

"What notes?"

She waves her hand. "Oh. Ideas for what to do with Locksley, once we were married. Crop rotations out in the fields. New roofs for the cottages. Better accounting. Some things in the manor. Take that table, for example. I always thought it would go better in _that_ corner-"

Robin is shaking his head, disbelieving. "You've been mistress of this house for _five minutes_-"

"Thornton was right," she says. "I've had a long time to think about it."

Smirking now, he draws her to him, his hands pulling her hips to his. "You know, in a certain light, it's almost flattering."

"How so?" She loops her thumbs into the back of his waistband.

"If you think my house is a mess and I manage my lands poorly, you must've married me for my roguish good looks."

She rolls her eyes at him as he winks, but it's only for show. He just likes to needle her.

"You are _insufferable_," she says, not for the first time. There was a year in there when it was the only thing she called him.

"Ah, but you have to suffer me anyway." Robin bends down to steal a quick kiss. "Didn't we add that to your vows?"

"I don't remember that," says Marian, but she reaches up to kiss him more soundly. She's smiling against his lips, and he's immensely glad that her mood has turned. It's been a long day, and he'd much prefer to end it in Marian's arms.

As they kiss, she pulls his shirt out from his waistband and slides her hands beneath the fabric. Her fingers are cool against his skin, pressing against his lower back. Pulling him closer.

Yes, this is how he wants to end the day - this day, and every day. In Marian's arms, and in his own house, with the fire roaring in the hearth.

When she finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against hers and says, "Marian, my beautiful wife, lady of Locksley." His arms are still around her waist, and he whispers: "I'm going to make love to you in every room of this house." He presses a kiss to her neck, in that spot she likes, just behind her ear. Marian can't help the shiver, but she _can_ help letting him get away with such cheek.

"Robin," she protests, and he keeps kissing her neck anyway, "you are supposed to be respectable now."

He just smiles lazily as he continues, brushing her hair away out of his way and gathering it loosely over her right shoulder. He nips at her earlobe. "Am I?"

She pushes him lightly, palms against his chest, but she's fighting a smile. "_Yes_."

"It might be more fun if I'm not," he suggests. His well-practiced hands start to undo the laces at the back of her dress, loosening the bodice as he goes.

"More fun for who?" says Marian, but she's already breathless and helping him lift the gown over her head.

Taking her by the hand and leading her up the stairs, Robin says, "Let's try it and find out."

* * *

King Richard does not waste any time bringing the sheriff to trial. Vaisey is swiftly tried and swiftly found guilty - and swiftly, and quietly, executed. They don't ask what will happen to the body. Some things it is better not to know.

Marian is not sorry to see him dead, though she is sorry for the mechanism of his death, and as always she is sorry for those who do the killing. She is glad it is not her; she is glad it is not Robin. She will do what she can to see that he never has to kill again.

But Guy - it is something different. Harder.

Just as with Sheriff Vaisey, every noble from the surrounding area - and plenty of the peasantry - is in attendance for the trial. They are making an example.

_Oh, Guy, what have you done._

"Guy of Gisborne, you stand accused of treason against the Crown," the bailiff begins. "You stand accused of attempting to murder Richard, King of England, on two separate occasions. In addition to this, you stand accused of the murder of numerous villagers and residents of the town of Nottingham, and of the attempted murder of many others, including Lady Marian and her husband, Robin, Earl of Huntingdon. Is there anyone here who will speak in his defense?"

Throughout this speech there are whispers in the crowd. How many of these assembled nobles had plotted alongside Guy and the sheriff? How many of them had stood by while Vaisey's men tortured and killed innocent villagers? How many of them, Marian wonders, fear for their own lives now, watching Guy standing up there voiceless?

Marian does not look at him. She does not know what she would see in his eyes, but she cannot imagine it will be bearable to her.

Instead, she glances sidelong at Robin, who is stone-faced grim, and past him to Allan.

Allan, who is looking right back at her, with a tightness on his face to match hers.

It is not complicated. Guy is a killer. He left his own child to die in the woods, he would have had Robin executed in a heartbeat. He very nearly killed her, more than once.

But he also saved her, more than once. Allan running across the battlements, dressed as the Nightwatchman. And not more than a week ago, when he had - finally - chosen the people of Nottingham, over the sheriff. She can imagine the man he could be without Vaisey's influence. Maybe not a hero, but they have plenty of those already. England could stand to gain one more man who will, under pressure, do the right thing. Guy could be that.

And no matter what else, Marian cannot tolerate the thought of answering barbarism with barbarism. If she'd fought for an England that was just and merciful - and she did, she _did_ \- then surely this is not that country.

She closes her eyes.

Robin must notice her shifting, because he places a hand on her knee, but she does not look at him. She can't.

Come what may, Marian cannot have done nothing.

"I will speak for him," she says, rising to face the king. Her voice is steady. Even when she hears the gasps and whispers, she does not tremble. _Steady_.

King Richard narrows his eyes, but he has no choice: he must hear it. The bailiff is surprised, but he says, "Marian, Countess of Huntingdon," in acknowledgement. She nods briefly in his direction before she addresses the king.

"Your Highness," she says, curtsying as best she can in the space before the bench.

"You may speak."

"Your Highness, Guy of Gisborne is all of the things you say," she begins. It is always better, in her experience, to tell men that they are right before correcting them. The fact that she doesn't (usually) have to do this with Robin is one of her favorite things about him. "But he did all of those things under the order of Vaisey, Sheriff of Nottingham, who was appointed to his position by Prince John, who was regent in your absence."

The king does not look pleased. "I know who appointed the Sheriff of Nottingham."

"Of course, my lord," she says, curtsying again; all those etiquette lessons her father had insisted on. "It is just that Guy of Gisborne is guilty only of following the orders of an agent of the Crown. My husband," and she risks a glance at him here; to her immense relief, he looks more curious than angry, "was outlawed and nearly executed for disobeying the sheriff's orders. Surely we cannot condemn a man for choosing to obey them." _Cowardice is a sin, not a crime_, she wants to add, though she thinks better of it, _at least away from the battlefield._

The king's eyes narrow. "And who ordered his attempts on _your_ life?"

Marian exhales audibly. "The first time I was acting as the Nightwatchman, whom he was under orders to kill. He didn't know it was me. And the second time—" She bites her lip. _He tried to kill me in a jealous rage_ doesn't sound like a convincing argument. "I provoked him. I was trying to create a distraction, to distract him from you, Your Highness, so I said what I knew would hurt him the most." _And it worked_.

"It is still attempted murder, then."

She stands her ground. "But it is not treason."

The king sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Tell me then, Lady Marian, what you would have us do. It seems you are determined to have him avoid the punishment he is due. What alternative do you propose?"

At this, Marian is finally nervous. "That is not for me to decide, Your Highness."

"Nevertheless, I am asking."

She does look at Guy then, and he is staring intensely back at her. She wonders if she's done him any favor at all by speaking for him. "Let him undo the hurt he has caused," she says quietly, but the courtroom is dead silent and her voice carries. "Send him somewhere else, where he is not known. Let him work in the fields. His hands are as strong as anyone else's. We have lost so many men already. Let him provide for the peasants of some other shire, in repayment of what he took from these men and women. Let some loyal lord look after him." _Not Robin_, she means. Marian thinks her husband has a greater capacity for forgiveness than he realizes, but she's not going to push it.

The king is looking at her, too, and his gaze is almost - impressed? He steeples his hands beneath his chin. "Interesting," he says. Then, turning to look at the rest of the assembly, he adds, "Tell me: would the knowledge of such a punishment stop you from obeying treasonous orders?"

Silence.

"To be brought low - to shame your ancestors, to lose your title for yourself and your children and your children's children - to finish out your life working in the fields with the lowest among us? Is that punishment enough for a man who seeks power through evil acts?"

Marian winces, but the king does not know any farmers; how could he respect them? The hall is quieter than Marian has ever heard it, but the expressions on the nobles' faces say it all.

She hadn't intended this punishment to be cruel. Just, but not cruel.

To be alive, after all, is the thing.

"It is done," says the king, rising from his chair. Everyone else rises with him, and he pronounces Guy's fate. "Guy of Gisborne, you are stripped of your lands and rank. You will remain imprisoned here in Nottingham until such time as I can find a suitable place for you." King Richard nods at Marian. "You owe your life, such as it is, to Lady Marian."

It occurs to her that she might never see Guy of Gisborne again after this moment. His expression is still unreadable. What did she expect?

Once the king dismisses them, the nobles file out of the hall, passing by a hundred or so villagers who'd gathered to watch the proceedings. Marian keeps her gaze straight ahead. Gisborne did badly by many of these men and women, and she has no doubt that there will be repercussions.

"My lady," says one of the villagers, a woman's voice, sounding not at all angry. After another moment another pair - Mary and Robert, a couple Marian remembers from Clun - fall to their knees, murmuring "My lady" with reverence in their voices, and Marian does not understand. She hears her name whispered among the crowd: she hears _Lady Marian_ and _Robin Hood_ and _Nightwatchman_; she hears _food_ and _medicine_ and _saved my little boy's life, she did_.

When she dares to look around, she sees that most of the villagers are bowing - bowing to _her_ \- and some of them are reaching hands out to her, offering their blessing.

"Robin," she whispers. She had not thought about revealing herself as the Nightwatchman; she had said it unthinking, only aware of the king and Allan and Robin, everyone who already knew the truth. She had not thought about all of the people listening, all the men and women she'd helped in disguise, for years before Robin of Locksley returned from the Holy Land.

Robin takes her hand. "They're thanking you," he says quietly back. "Enjoy it."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes: **As always, thanks for the kind reviews; it always makes my day! I keep feeling like I'm in the home stretch with this story and then I decide to add more chapters, haha, so...we'll see. I actually have the last chapter done but there are so many other things I want to put in the middle!

* * *

_"The way you fight, it's better than dancing." _(Robin is angsty, Guy leaves, and Marian makes a decision.)

* * *

Robin is pensive and silent beside her as they ride back to Locksley. It is late by the time they arrive at the manor, as they'd stopped several times along the way to share the news of Gisborne's fate. It seems most of the villagers made it back before them - there are several small sprays of wildflowers, tied together with twine, outside their door.

Without speaking, Marian picks them up, and Robin puts his arm around her shoulders.

"I didn't think," she says, looking at the flowers. They are lovely: blackthorn and daffodils and daisies. Robin pulls one yellow flower out of the posy and tucks it behind her ear.

"There," he says, smiling, though she can see his heart is not in it.

Inside Robin lights the fire upstairs, and Marian removes the warm stones Thornton had left in the sheets. They climb in together, drawing the curtains closed around the bed. Robin pulls Marian to him, spooning her, and she settles into his arms.

After a while, Robin asks, "Do you believe it?"

"Believe what?" Marian says sleepily.

"What you said at the trial. That men shouldn't be condemned for - following orders."

She isn't sleepy anymore. "Yes, of course. I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

"Even if they kill?"

Marian thinks of Guy, and of all the villagers and townspeople pressed into the sheriff's service. Most of them were good men, and many of them had killed, but what choice did they have? To do otherwise would have meant risking their families' lives. "They bear some responsibility, of course," she says. Mostly, she thinks, with God. "But condemned - no, I do not think they should be condemned."

Robin rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, and suddenly she understands.

Marian props herself up on her elbow, but he does not turn his head to look at her. "You were fighting for your king, Robin. You did what was necessary."

His voice is bitter. "None of it was necessary."

"And if you hadn't fought? What then?"

He shrugs, miserably. "Maybe the war would have ended years ago. Maybe we'd have come back to England and none of this would have happened."

"Or maybe you'd have been killed years ago, and you wouldn't have been able to convince the king to call a truce in the end," she says. "Robin, you've made a difference. You have the ear of the King of England. You _ended the war_. And that's leaving aside all the good you've done here in Nottingham. All of the people you saved."

"I don't know if sin works like that," he says quietly. "One life saved, canceling out one ended."

Marian's never been inclined to argue theology, least of all with Robin, whose interest always strikes her as purely intellectual. She is a practical girl. "Well, it can't hurt."

She drops down beside him, laying her head on his shoulder. He is so warm, and she always feels so safe here. It is strange to think of him as dangerous, though of course she knows he is. He is the best archer in England, was the king's right-hand man. Marian doesn't know how many Saracens he killed in the Holy Land, and as much as she wants to ease his burden, she isn't sure she _wants_ to know.

And anyway, she believes what she says. Plenty of men engage in warfare, but how many of them return home to feed the poor and free slaves and rescue innocents?

Marian doesn't believe in redemption if it doesn't include Robin of Locksley.

Turning in his arms, she reaches up to touch his face. His eyes are closed, and she will follow him anywhere.

"You are a good man, Robin," she says, not for the first time, but she cannot tell him enough. She wants to tell him: _you are brave and you are good and I'll follow you into Hell if I have to_, but she knows he won't find that reassuring.

It's true, though. If Marian arrives at the gates of Heaven to find that Robin is absent, she will march down to Hell and tell the devil what for.

"I wish you could see it," she says quietly. Maybe this is the root of his desperate need to be loved by the villagers he cares for. Maybe he can only see how good he truly is when his goodness is reflected in their faces.

Robin pulls her close against him. He kisses her. "When you tell me, I believe it," he says fiercely.

She kisses him back. "Then I will keep telling you until you can believe it on your own."

And she will. For the rest of her days, with her words and her hands and her smile, she will tell him. And even after he comes to believe it, she will still tell him.

_Master of the bow, champion of the poor, and lord of my heart_, she'd called him once.

Every word of it is true, over and over.

* * *

Marian sees Guy - no longer of Gisborne, no longer of anything - only once more in all of her life.

It is she who comes to tell him of his place of exile.

When she walks down to the dungeons, she hopes with everything in her that this will be the last time. Marian has had quite enough of the dungeons of Nottingham Castle.

Guy is leaning against the cell wall, his hair even longer and more unkempt than before. His usual uniform of stiff black leather has been replaced by prisoner's garb, sackcloth shirt and thin, ill-fitting pants, and it makes him look softer. Less dangerous.

Pitiable.

And hasn't that always been the root of her feelings for Guy? Marian, who has always known love - her mother, who loved Marian with her last breath; her father, whose love for her informed every choice he ever made; and Robin, always Robin - cannot help but pity someone who has always been bereft.

"You are to go north," she says, and she does not ask the guard to unlock Guy's cell.

He does not move.

"Your master will be Sir William of Bedlington. He is a good man."

"My _master,_" he sneers.

Marian sits down on the floor outside the cell, hugging her knees to her chest. "Is it really so different?" she asks quietly. "The sheriff was your master, too. Only now, you will serve someone who will treat you fairly, and you will do good work instead of evil."

"I will work the land." He sounds disgusted, contemptuous, and it makes Marian snap.

"As you should have done at Locksley. Robin's family always helped when they were needed. The manor's harvest feeds everyone, and _everyone_ works. Why do you think the villagers resented you so much?"

"They resented me because I was not soft," he says through gritted teeth.

She just shakes her head. "You will have a chance now. I know you cannot see it, but there _are_ men and women in such position who are happy. Who are warm and well fed and who love their children. That is the future I want for you, Guy - it is why I asked the king for clemency. But if you really think that this is a worse fate than being drawn and quartered, I am sure the king would reconsider."

He glowers. She wonders if he knows how empty that threat is. The king has long since left for London and presumably forgotten about Nottingham and its problems. Indeed, it was Marian who arranged for Guy to be sent to Northumberland - she strongly suspects the king would've let Guy languish in the dungeons indefinitely.

"I don't care if you hate me-"

Guy has to force the words out. "I do. Hate you."

"Fine." She stands up, and the guard - who's been listening quite intently to the entire conversation - snaps to attention. Marian looks to Guy, beaten and low in his cell, and hopes for the best for him. Truly. "You have a choice now, Guy, as ever. If you want to die bitter and lonely in the north, no one will stop you. But you _can_ make a life for yourself. It won't be a life of wealth and power, but I hope there are other things you value."

"There are not."

Marian doesn't believe him, not for a second, but she just says: "You'll have a long time to learn."

When she turns and walks away from Guy for the last time, she does not look back. There is nothing more to regret. She has given him his due.

The guard opens the door, and she hears Guy's sigh behind her. Something in it reassures her.

Soon he will be gone, far away from Marian and Robin and Nottingham, far away from people who remember his cruelty. A fresh start.

From there, it is up to him.

* * *

It is only a few weeks after Gisborne's departure that the village of Locksley celebrates a double wedding: Will and Djaq, who will stay in the village until Knighton Hall can be rebuilt, and happily, Much and Eve, who will finally take up residence in promised Bonchurch Lodge. Two ceremonies, one after another, with the words in the second ceremony altered in accordance with Djaq's faith.

Robin, now officially restored as Earl of Huntingdon, presides over both weddings with a smile so broad that it's the only thing you see when you look at him.

He is a changed man since their triumphant return to England. He has put on a little weight, filling out cheeks that had grown gaunt after years of hard living in the forest and months of travel to and from the Holy Land.

He looks happier, too. Marian likes to think she's had something to do with that. When Robin says the words that marry Will and Djaq, Much and Eve, his glance flickers over to her, and they share a small, private smile.

This wedding is perfect and beautiful, and Marian still wouldn't trade her hasty desert wedding for anything.

After the wedding they feast. Peasants and yeomen and sympathetic nobles from all over Nottinghamshire have come to fête their heroes, and the party spills out from Locksley Manor to encompass most of the village. All of the villagers have worked for days to prepare - King Richard gave Robin unrestricted use of Sherwood for hunting, and this decree has brought plenty back to Locksley. They'd had a miserable go of it under Gisborne and Vaisey, awaiting the return of Master Robin, and sure as anything, they've feasted ever since he came back.

Many of the villagers are still shy around Marian in a way they did not used to be, and she feels a flicker of regret every time they turn from her, or worse, bow to her. Better to not have revealed herself. Better to have lain the Nightwatchman to rest. "They'll come around," Robin keeps telling her. Maybe. The women will, she thinks, but some of the men look at her as though she has shamed them.

The happy couples lead off the dancing, and as night falls, Thornton and his wife Mary go around lighting torches, though the light from the full moon is plenty bright enough to see by.

Robin offers Marian his hand in a country dance, and if she concentrates she can do all of the steps.

"You've been practicing," he says with a grin, spinning her around and back to him.

"Mm. Or perhaps I've always been a good dancer, and I just didn't want you to feel inferior." It's a lie and they both know it, and laugh.

In the next steps he pulls her close enough that she can hear him say, low and only for her: "The way you fight, it's better than dancing."

And wouldn't she rather have this, after all - a husband who loves the way she fights. All those warm afternoons in the forest, fighting each other with the biggest branches they could cut and carry, Marian learning to block every thrust and parry with ease. Marian had always been the only one who could come close to beating Robin in a fight, and she'd done it twice - once with her sword and once hand-to-hand, and she'll tell those stories until her body lies in the ground.

For a second she is dizzy to think of it. _Lady Marian and Robin Hood_. It sounds like a ballad. She's heard tales of brave Robin Hood and his men already, circulating through the pubs and halls of Nottinghamshire.

Marian wonders if she will be part of those legends someday, and what she will be reduced to in the telling. For the tales she's heard tell only part of the story. The stories tell of brave deeds and defiance and babies saved from starvation, but they say nothing - _know_ nothing - of so much else. The outlaws' fierce friendship, the way Little John looks when he talks about his son, Much's love and worry. The strength Allan showed in coming back after so much betrayal. The strength Will and Djaq show every day, loving each other despite all of their differences.

The stories don't say anything about the nightmares that still keep Robin up at night, and how tightly he holds her when he awakens. They don't say anything about the light in his eyes.

When they tell stories of Robin Hood and Lady Marian, what will they say? Fighters, she hopes, warriors who loved each other their whole lives and fought side by side, but no story could ever tell the strength and the trembling in his hands when he touches her.

In that moment, Marian is struck by what a wonderful thing her body is, and how glad she is to be in it. To be alive. To walk through the world, to be _of_ the world, to be in a body that knows so much pain and so much pleasure.

She thinks of Guy then, somewhere far away north, and for the first time she really believes she did the right thing. Where there is life, there is hope. Even for Guy.

When the dance comes to an end, Robin bows and Marian curtsies as though they are only partners in the dance, paying careful attention to every courtesy. He is winking at her, though, with a grin that can only be described as lascivious. He offers his hand to Thornton's wife next - armed with a much more appropriate smile - and Marian steps back out of the crowd.

Out of breath, Djaq comes back to stand with Marian. Just like at Marian's wedding, they watch the increasingly raucous crowd. The former outlaws are dancing with the villagers, feasting and drinking like this happiness is all they've ever known.

Marian smiles at Djaq. "I'm so happy for you both," she says.

Djaq glows, warm and happy. "It was good of Robin to perform the service," she says, looking fondly over at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I am Muslim," she says, as though surprised that Marian hadn't thought about it. It probably is surprising, Marian realizes. What a ridiculous question to have asked.

"And is it—" She does not know how to ask. "Does it _count_?"

Djaq shrugs. "Perhaps. Allah saw fit to send me here, where there is no one else of my faith, though Will would convert if I asked it of him."

Marian considers that for a long moment. She thinks again of heaven, and of who she'll find there. "Maybe Robin is right," she finally says.

"About what?"

"That we do all worship the same God. That we are not so different after all."

"Perhaps," Djaq says again, but her voice says _I doubt it_.

But Marian thinks about it for the rest of the night. All of the things Robin's told her about the Holy Land and the Saracens and the Qur'an. All of the good and all of the evil, at home and abroad. All of the good she has known.

That night after Robin goes to sleep, Marian pulls on her robe and pads barefoot to the chest in the corner. Inside a drawer her bag of herbs, recently replenished by Matilda. The older woman always dispenses them with a wink, but it's been a long time since Marian felt embarrassed about asking.

Marian takes out the bag and turns it over in her hands, thinking.

She puts it back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Note:** FINALLY. I've had a lot going on at work lately, then got sick, etc. etc., but here's the next chapter. Sorry if I've been neglecting responses; I'll get to them as soon as I can, but please know that your feedback is much appreciated. It helps me finish these difficult bits!

**Note the second:** Thank you anonymous reviewer for telling me I uploaded the wrong chapter! Ugh, ridiculous. Here's the real new one.

* * *

Marian's been sick for days, but there's no telling what it is: the change in the weather as winter creeps in, that bit of undercooked chicken at Bonchurch Lodge.

Or something else.

On the fifth morning she begs off work once again, leaving Robin to settle disputes and organize the harvest, as he's done all week. He is always good-natured about it, and though on the first morning he made a joke about how lazy she's getting as the lady of the manor, by now he's mostly worried.

"Do you want me to go and see Matilda?" he asks, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead, concern in his eyes. "Or Djaq? Someone should take a look at you."

"It's nothing, really," she assures him, trying her best at a normal smile. "Just a cold, I'm sure."

Robin frowns. "If you're sure."

"I am. Thank you," she says, and she means it. "If I'm not feeling better by the afternoon I'll go and find Matilda."

"All right." He still looks worried, and for a moment she's sorely tempted to tell him what she thinks it is, but - no. Better to be sure.

Marian kisses him goodbye and watches him go. He gives her one last grin over his shoulder as he heads down the stairs and out to the village, and through the open window she hears him call to one of the villagers.

He is a good man, Robin. She always knew it, of course, but it is good to see him restored to his proper place. When she compares him to Guy - but there is no comparison. Guy took little care in matters of Locksley village beyond collecting taxes and periodically terrorizing peasants for information. Robin, on the other hand, knows everyone's Christian name. He knows which of their goats has died and that little Maggie loathes carrots and that John at the mill wants to marry Catherine the blacksmith's daughter. This is Robin's home, the home of his ancestors, the home his children will inherit.

_His children_, Marian thinks, warmth spreading through her. She'd quite like to meet them.

By mid-morning she works up the resolve to walk to Matilda's. Ever since the king returned she and Rose and the baby have been back in Locksley, mending wounds and blending poultices once again. She and Djaq were wary of each other at first, but they've come to some kind of peace; occasionally Marian sees them gathering herbs together in the forest.

Marian knocks on the door, softly at first, then a little louder when no one answers.

"Coming, coming," calls Matilda's voice from inside, and she opens the door just far enough to see who it is. Her look softens. "Ah, Lady Marian," she says, opening the door the rest of the way. She gestures for Marian to sit on the rough-hewn chair by the fire. Something is cooking over it, though from the smell Marian is not at all sure that it is food.

"I have been unwell," Marian begins, a little hesitant. She can never quite tell what Matilda thinks of her.

Matilda puts up a hand to stop Marian from continuing, and eyes her from a few feet away. The scrutiny makes Marian distinctly uncomfortable. After a moment she walks over, presses her cool hands against Marian's neck and stomach, and finally flicks at the sides of her breasts. Marian winces, as she has for weeks every time Robin touches her there, even gently, and works up the nerve to ask, "Am I-"

"Aye, you're pregnant, you don't need me to tell you that," says Matilda, cutting her off a bit snappishly, but there's a glint in her eye. "Robin'll be pleased."

Failing entirely to hold back a smile, Marian says, "I hope so."

Matilda rolls her eyes. "Oh, of course he will. A bonny girl. No man would be happier, I'll wager. No man would be a better father to a girl, either."

"D'you think it's a girl?"

"You get a sense for these things," says Matilda, and she pats the younger woman on the shoulder. "Go on home, dear, and rest up. I can bring you something for the nausea later on, if it's troubling you."

Once she gets home, Marian can't seem to relax - her stomach roiling, and she doesn't think it's the baby's fault this time. Instead she putters around the house and garden, pulling weeds and sweeping the floors, though they were already clean enough. Clean as they will be in dusty fall, anyway.

While she's outside tending to the tomatoes, Robin comes home and spots her. "Marian!" he cries gladly across the field. Marian turns to watch him come, half-jogging to get to her that much sooner. He takes her in his arms and kisses her soft, saying, "You must be feeling better."

"I am," she says, and she barely recognizes her own voice. She feels somehow like she is floating, watching herself and Robin from far away. How bright her eyes must be. How close he stands to her, always, like he could guard her from all the horrors of the world. "You make me so happy," she says quietly, pressing her hands to his face. "Have I ever told you that?"

He grins. "Not in so many words, no." He leans in to kiss her again. That's something incredible to her: that after so many kisses, each one still feels new. "What's gotten into you? Not that it isn't nice to hear."

"Robin, I have something to tell you," she begins, and what a beginning it is.

* * *

Marian wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of a furious whisper, and the sight of her husband kneeling on the floor by the window. "Robin?" she asks, her voice heavy with sleep. "What's going on?"

He stands up quickly and turns to her, looking guilty. "Nothing."

There are candles on the floor, their wicks still glowing, and she raises an eyebrow. "Robin, were you _praying_?" Crusades or not, Robin is not a religious man. She hasn't seen him pray since he was a boy in church, and even then he spent half his time flicking pebbles at her or playing games with Much. She suspects he's read more of the Qur'an than the Bible - his Latin was always terrible. Yet another of Robin's mysteries: his complete ineptitude with a language he'd studied since childhood, and the ease with which he'd learned an entirely different alphabet.

"Yes?" It is incredible how guilty he looks for praying. Indeed, she doesn't want to chastise him for it, but it is so strange that she can't help digging in a little further.

Marian climbs out of bed. She resents how challenging that small movement is, now that she's only weeks away from giving birth. Her body is heavy and awkward and unfamiliar, and while she cannot wait to meet their child, she could do without this pregnancy business. She crosses to him, and he does not meet her eyes. "What's going on?"

"Really, it's nothing."

She waits. She can almost always outlast him.

What he says next surprises her, though. In a rough whisper: "What if you die?"

Instinctively, she places a hand over her belly. "_What?_"

Robin finally meets her gaze. "Women die _all the time_ in childbirth. My mother did."

"I'm not going to die," she says softly, reaching up to hold his face in her hands. "Everything is going to be fine."

"You don't know that."

Marian sighs, exasperated. "Just like _I_ never knew if you were going to come home alive, and need I remind you that there were many, _many_ times when you nearly didn't? Robin, you rode off into a war that almost no one returned from. You would show up to an ambush with nothing but your bow."

"Yes, but I was in _control_."

"No, you weren't," she says firmly. "You depended at every moment on other people. All your gang. You depended on the sheriff's incompetence. You depended on the wind to carry your arrows true."

He is unconvinced, but she soldiers on. "Just so, I will depend on Djaq and Matilda to do something they are quite capable of doing, that they have done plenty of times before. And you, to stay strong, and my body not to betray me. We all do the best we can, Robin, but do not pretend that you relied on others any less than I must now."

"I can't lose you." There is a desperate edge to his voice now, one she hasn't heard there for a long time.

Taking him by the hand, she leads them both back to bed. She tucks the blankets around him, then slides in facing him. His hands warm around hers, between them.

"If I die," she says, and a choked sound comes out of Robin, but she continues anyway. "_If_ I die, and rest assured I do not intend to, you will do the best you can. You will raise up our child to be good and brave, and if it is a girl then Djaq and Eve will help with those things, though I still expect that you will teach her to wield a bow and sword. You will find her a fine tutor for her sums, because I certainly do not want her to learn them from you." Robin actually laughs at that, which is reassuring. "And then when she is older and wishes to marry, you will give your blessing whether she looks to an earl or a farmer." She can't help the way her voice cracks at the end. "Or an outlaw."

"I love you," he says, his voice breaking.

Marian can only think of her own father, and how proud he'd have been in the end, of the life she had made. "There. I have just taught you to be a good father. You shall be fine." She had been, after all. The world is full of motherless girls, and Robin is better equipped than most fathers to handle one. He knows from headstrong women, in any case.

Robin kisses her then, with all of the hope and fear that's in him, and there in the dark and the warmth Marian can only believe in a generous God, who gives more than he takes and who has counted all their losses. She can feel the baby moving, nearly ready to greet the day, and Marian is ready, too.

* * *

Robin has been pacing the hall for hours.

From inside their bedroom - through the thin walls and the closed door - all he can hear is Djaq's voice, low and soothing, and occasionally Matilda's - significantly less soothing - but he can't hear Marian.

He's been around women giving birth before, and he thought he knew what to expect. Groaning and cursing. Screams, even, but not this silence. He hates to hear her in pain, but this - this is impossibly _worse_, not knowing anything.

Djaq had seemed remarkably unconcerned about it all when he'd brought her to the manor. "She is young and strong," she'd said. "She has been through much worse." And then she started to shut the bedroom door, leaving Robin alone out in the hall.

"What if something happens?" Robin said desperately, leaning against the door to keep it open. "I need to be there if—"

"_If_ something happens," Djaq said, pushing back just as hard, "there will be time enough."

Even hearing Djaq acknowledge the possibility was too much for him. "Djaq, _please_—"

"Absolutely not." Matilda appeared at the door, hands on her hips. "Look at you, Robin, you're a mess. You'll make things worse. Stay out here and for God's sake, try to stay calm."

And so Robin has been trying, though with little success. A few hours in, Will stopped by to bring him some ale and a chunk of good fresh bread, very nearly forcing Robin to eat - he'd picked up some of Djaq's tendencies, Robin noted with some displeasure - but since Will left, Robin has not stopped moving.

A brief visit from Much only makes things worse. "I'm sure Marian's fine," he says at top speed, "unless she isn't, of course, but I'm sure Djaq will do everything she can, she's very good at what she does, you know - but Marian is probably fine—"

"Shut _up_, Much," Robin roars, holding his head in his hands. "Just _go_."

And Much does. And Robin paces.

Day turns into evening, and Robin finally loses steam. He slides down along the bedroom wall, sitting upright with his legs sticking out. Here, with his head against the wall, he can finally hear Marian. Her voice is soft and maybe she's crying, _oh God_, and Robin clenches his fists and swears he won't break the door down.

And then he hears her scream.

He _hates_ how familiar that sound is, how many times he's heard it; what kind of life has he led her into? And this, he realizes, is his fault too.

The second time she screams, Robin stands up and knocks on the door. Bangs on it, more like. A few seconds later Djaq opens it, looking harried. "What?"

"Is she—"

"Everything is _fine_, Robin," she says firmly.

"Can I—"

"_No._" Djaq sighs. "It won't be long now. Just - try to relax. Breathe." And she slams the door in his face again.

A million worst-case scenarios run through Robin's mind. What if the baby dies, what if Marian bleeds to death, what if she seems fine but three days from now she—

And then he hears a new sound.

His heart stops, and he hears it again, and he is sure this time, it's a _baby_ crying, and beneath it he hears Djaq exclaim and Marian - _oh God, Marian_ \- he hears Marian laugh. That bright bell sound, and his heart beats like it should but he still can't find a way to inhale.

Long moments pass. He can hear them talking behind the door, and Marian sounds normal - _what does that even mean_ \- but what could they _possibly_ be doing back there that takes so long—

After half an eternity the door opens, and it's Djaq.

"It's a girl," Djaq says, beaming, as she holds the baby out to him, clean and swaddled in white. Robin registers the baby, just barely; it - _she_ \- is bright pink and impossibly small, but he has other concerns.

"And Marian?" Robin asks. Trying not to sound desperate, failing.

Djaq nods to the baby. Robin takes her, but he can barely feel her weight until Djaq says, "Marian is well," and he can finally breathe again.

In his arms, the baby reaches up to him, her arm flailing in the air for a moment before Robin offers her his left hand. She seems content to grab his thumb, and Robin looks up at Djaq. "Can I-"

"Go ahead," says Djaq on a sigh, stepping back to let Robin and the baby through the door.

Marian is half-sitting, propped up by pillows, and she is pale and her hair is damp with sweat and she looks, quite frankly, rather miserable - but she's alive.

She beams when she sees him, and carefully, carefully, Robin walks over to the bed and sits down next to his wife. She curls up against him, looking at the child in his arms.

"She's odd looking, isn't she?" Marian says softly, and then she giggles - _giggles_ \- like a girl. A pure, happy sound he hasn't heard from her in years.

Robin grins as he looks the child over. "So were you, once," he says, teasing. He kisses the top of Marian's head. "And you turned out all right." Now that he is assured of Marian's health, he can finally really _look_ at the baby. She is perfect: tiny hands and somehow already a great deal of hair. And Marian's eyes, blue as the sea.

Marian reaches a hand out to stroke the baby's head. Already she's curled against her father's chest, on the verge of sleep. "She's ours," says Marian, her voice full of wonder.

The baby coos in agreement, and Robin holds her, and Marian, just a little closer. "What's she called?"

"Katherine." Marian looks their daughter over, dark hair to tiny feet, and nods. "Yes. She looks like a Katherine."

"Then Katherine she shall be."

It is the middle of the night and Robin feels like he's been up for days. Marian beside him, and _their daughter_ \- an impossible dream, but he is certain he is awake. They fall asleep within moments, but Robin stays up until morning. Watching them sleep. Keeping them safe from the dark.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes:** Just two more left after this. Thanks again, all, for your support &amp; patience. Like the last chapter, this is really just a one-shot from their future, which is, despite its angstiness, far better than the one the BBC gave them.

* * *

_And God is a looming presence, counting all of his sins and paying them back tenfold. _(Nightmares. ~1198-1202)

* * *

It was never going to be easy.

When he'd returned to a badly changed Nottingham, there had been so much to do for so very long. Rebuilding what had been destroyed - the buildings burnt to the ground, the fields untended, the families separated - had consumed him and Marian for years. Added to that their own child - and a second, now, on the way - and Robin has had very little time to think about his past.

It hasn't left him, though.

His nightmares now are different from what they used to be. Now he dreams of Marian bleeding to death in Acre. He dreams of Gisborne returning to Locksley, raping and murdering Marian while Robin watches, helpless. He dreams of Katherine taking ill and dying, suddenly, before they can try to treat her. He dreams of watching his friends hang or burn or fall in battle.

And always, always, these nightmares return to their old familiar landscapes, and as his friends' bodies fade away he finds himself in Jerusalem again, slashing men to pieces on the battlefield.

And God is a looming presence, counting all of his sins and paying them back tenfold.

Robin can never speak of any of this: it is all unspeakable. But he knows that it shows on his face when he wakes and exhales, pulling Marian closer to him. He cannot always stop himself from screaming.

But he is learning, he is learning.

In the winter, as they approach the birth of their second child, it gets worse. Robin wakes screaming every night - sometimes more than once - and Marian sleeps through the late morning now, he's keeping her up so late at night. He'd suggested, hesitantly, that he should sleep in another room, but she had forbidden it.

"How will you know I'm here?" she'd asked plainly, and in that moment Robin knew that she knew everything about him, but he still could not bring himself to speak.

One night he is so loud that he wakes Katherine as well, and one of the servants who's fallen asleep downstairs rushes up to make sure all is well. Robin is mortified, and Marian gives him a quick glance before pulling on her robe and stepping out into the hall, shutting the door behind her. Robin sits at the edge of the bed. He can hear her placating the servant, then stepping to Katherine's room to comfort her as well. Robin's heartbeat still hasn't slowed.

He presses his palms against his eyes, trying to rub out the visions. He knows why he called out loud enough for Katherine to hear. He was calling for help. For Marian, for Marian. Everything. Behind his closed eyelids, she is dying or maybe already dead, her skin pale except for the bruises, and the blood, pouring out into the sand. The world behind his eyes is red. Robin is shivering and anxious, and he cannot make any of it go away.

When Marian finally returns to their bedroom, her face is deadly serious. "This cannot continue," she says from the doorway. Softly. "Robin."

He looks at the floor, ashamed, and she crosses to him, kneeling at his feet. She takes his hands in hers and whispers his name again. The tenderness in her voice might break him. To be loved so well by such a woman, after everything he's done.

She traces her fingers along his forehead. Worry is etched onto his brow and she smooths it away. "What do you dream about?" she asks, as though it's the kind of question one might just _answer_.

Robin just shakes his head. He lets himself meet her eyes just for a second, but even that is too much to bear.

"I'm your _wife_," says Marian. "You can tell me anything."

"Not this."

She rises just enough to kiss him, full and soundly, and he lets himself be comforted. "What kind of woman do you think I am?" she asks, her lips only a breath from his. "I will always love you, Robin. No matter what."

"It's not about the kind of woman you are. It's the kind of man I am."

"A good man," she says firmly. "A brave man."

"A killer."

"A husband," Marian insists. "A father. A friend."

"I am all of those things."

"It might help," says Marian, coming to sit next to him on their bed, wrapping her right arm around his waist, "if you talked about it. It doesn't have to be me, if you don't want. Much was with you. Surely-"

"Much used to try. I never let him. I'm not sure he'd let me, any more. I think he's forgotten all of it." Robin does think so: or more like _hopes so_, but Much is so happy now. Bonchurch Lodge and Eve and his son, just starting to crawl. How could Robin do that to him? Bring the nightmares back to Much, just to relieve his own?

"So you're just going to let it eat away at you for the rest of your life."

So much sadness in her voice. So much shame in his. "Yes."

"You lost part of yourself in the Holy Land, Robin. You told me so yourself. If you can't talk, if this keeps eating at you - one day there will be nothing left." He notices how her arm tightens around him as she says this. Like if she holds on tight enough she can keep him from disappearing.

"I can't, Marian." Robin turns away. "You might just have to be content with what's left of me."

That isn't what she meant, and he knows it. "That's not fair," she whispers.

Robin's voice is even softer when he answers, echoing the long-dead sheriff: "And life is usually so much fairer?" He traces the outline of her jaw, his touch gentle, but his words are sharp.

"Don't," Marian bites off, turning from him. She stands up and walks toward the door, but she doesn't leave. _Please don't leave._

"Damn it, Marian, what do you want me to say?"

"Tell me it'll get better!" she cries desperately, spinning around to face him again.

Shaking his head, he says, "I can't promise you that."

"Of course not," she snaps. "You won't even try."

Robin swallows. "I am trying. I'm learning, Marian. _Please. _I'm trying. Please don't go."

All of a sudden, her demeanor shifts. Her face pales. It's a long time before she speaks, and by the time she does her eyes, and her voice, are full of tears. "What?"

"I'll try harder," he repeats, quieter this time. "Just don't-"

"Robin." From across that uncrossable distance she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. Anchoring him. "I love you. I'm not going _anywhere._"

He clutches her to him, his fingers pressing into her back. "But what if it doesn't get better?" he says, his voice muffled against her shoulder. Marian should be with someone _whole_. Someone who sleeps through the night. Someone who doesn't watch her die in his dreams, over and over again.

But Robin's heart will never allow it. Marian belongs with _him_, she is _for_ him, as he is for her. Through every scrape and storm. All the years of his life that have been worth living, he's spent by her side.

She strokes his hair, presses her lips to his neck. "I'm not going anywhere," she says again, her voice barely a whisper.

And he believes her.

* * *

Slowly.

It is years after that conversation when Robin finally, haltingly, starts to tell her what happened - _no_, he corrects, still unwilling to absolve himself: _what I did_.

They are both older now, and their three children, two girls and a boy, sleep curled together upstairs. Young, still.

In truth, Marian and Robin are young still - not as they once were, but there are many years left in their future. Marian celebrated her thirtieth birthday only last week. And finally, Robin realizes that his entire life could be a very long time to go without being known by anyone, and Marian will understand.

Marian will understand.

He says this like a mantra, practices the words, imagines her expression. Tries to erase the horror in her eyes and replace it with forgiveness. After all, Marian too has killed.

Marian had told him once, a long time ago, that Gisborne wanted to marry her because he wanted forgiveness. He thought that Marian could offer him absolution from his sins.

Robin hates Guy of Gisborne still, with everything in him, but he wonders how different they really are, in the end.

It is late, after the children have gone to sleep, and Robin and Marian sit in front of the fire. This winter's been bitter cold, and they've taken to piling blankets directly in front of the hearth and curling up there, trying to keep the warmth close.

Robin is lying with his head in Marian's lap, hands resting on his stomach, while she mends a hole in Katherine's dress.

"You could leave that for the servants," he'd said earlier, when she had started on it. Katherine was turning out quite as wild as her mother. It was a significant hole.

Marian had shrugged. "I do not mind," she'd said, threading the needle. "It is soothing."

When Robin opens his eyes, he can see her hands moving against the fabric. Her motions quick, precise; her long, slim fingers and scarred, calloused palms.

It's been years since Marian had to wield a sword - since either of them had - but the scars don't fade. Marian will never have the soft, unblemished hands of other ladies of her station. Her hands, like her body, will never be able to hide who she really is: all her years of hard work and generosity, her courage, her love.

Every time Robin looks at her, he knows. No woman has ever been as brave or as beautiful as Marian of Locksley.

After she finishes, she folds the dress neatly and places it on the bench behind her. She starts to massage Robin's head and neck, her fingers pressing against the muscles that years of stress and strife have tightened. Unspeaking, gentle; Marian's hands have always been able to heal him, no matter the ill. Scrapes and falls and arrow wounds, and deeper things, too. She has always had the power to bring Robin back to himself.

"Marian," he says quietly, eyes still closed.

She doesn't stop. "Yes?"

How does he begin, after so many years of silence? "You used to ask me about - about the Holy Land."

The slightest hesitation, then, but she recovers quickly. Her movements smooth and even, her fingertips softening the skin at his brow. "Yes," she says.

"I did not want to share that burden with you." He swallows and her hands follow the movement, down his throat and to his shoulders. King Richard dead three years, and it is only now that Robin can begin to see the man as he was: a great warrior, always, and the author of so much death. In his dreams Robin watches the bodies pile up. A mountain impossible to climb.

And now Richard's brother calls them to war in France, and Robin has not said a word to Marian. What is there to say? He has to go. He cannot ask his people to fight while he stays home, safe and sound.

"We killed so many in the name of God, but we could not find Him anywhere," Robin says. If he is going to say it, he has to say it. "There were men we tortured. I didn't - but I didn't stop them, either. I killed hundreds of men. _Hundreds_. Early on it was all with my bow, and it was so easy. I can kill a man clean from three hundred yards, so I never had to see their faces."

Marian's hands are so sure, so steady.

"But later on it would always come down to the sword. They were good fighters, and Saladin was a great commander. We'd cut each other to pieces until the sand under our feet was thick with blood. I have no idea how many men I killed."

She speaks then, softly. "Is that what you dream about?"

"Sometimes. I keep waiting for something terrible to happen. It seems impossible that I get to live like this, after everything I did. And every night something happens to take you away from me." His mouth is suddenly dry. "Or the children, or Much and his boy. Locksley is burned to the ground. Gisborne—" Robin shudders at the name. "Gisborne comes back, or—"

Suddenly, they hear a scream from upstairs. Robin swears his heart stops, and he looks at Marian, wide-eyed and listening hard. When the second scream comes, both of them bolt up the stairs to the children's room.

Katherine, Eleanor, and Edward are all awake, but it is Edward, their second child, who is crying. The girls are propping him up between them, Katherine patting his unruly hair and whispering, "Shh, shh."

Marian sits at the edge of the bed. "What's wrong, darling?"

The boy sniffles and shakes his head, brown hair falling into his eyes. Edward has Marian's coloring, rich dark hair and ice-blue eyes - filled with tears, at the moment. "Don't wanna," he says, and Marian gives Robin a look. Eyebrows raised. _He's _your _son_.

"Come on," says Robin, holding out his hand. After wiping his hand across his nose, Edward climbs out of the bed and follows Robin downstairs. Marian stays upstairs, and he can hear her talking to the girls, though he cannot make out what she says.

Edward holds his hand as they settle down in front of the fire. Robin forgets, sometimes, in the midst of everything, that he should never have had any of this. He should have died a thousand times over, and instead he is here, the father of a little boy who trusts him, who looks up at him with bright blue eyes like he thinks Robin can solve any problem.

Robin strokes his hair. "What's going on, then?"

Still stubborn, Edward exhales a sigh that seems far too large for his body. "Bad," he says quietly.

"I have bad dreams, too," says Robin, his eyes meeting his son's.

"You do?"

"I do." Robin bites his lip. "I know it's hard to remember, but they can't hurt you. They're not real." If only he could make himself believe this.

"Still scary."

"Yeah," Robin admits. "Still scary." One day, Robin will tell him the rest: that it's all right to be afraid. That Robin's fears have taught him what he truly values, what is worth fighting for. That true courage is fighting through the fear.

One day, Robin will tell him. For now, he will sit here on a pile of blankets, keeping Edward company until he falls back asleep. He remembers his father doing the same for him, so many years ago. Staying up with him all night. Keeping the monsters away.

After the children are tucked back into their bed, Marian comes to sit next to Robin again. She wraps a blanket around their shoulders and leans against him. "Tell me, then," she says softly. "What did Edward do to deserve his nightmares?"

Robin is aghast. "What?"

"You think your nightmares are a punishment," she says, looking ahead into the fire. "You think God sends them to you as a reminder of your sins. What sins has Edward?"

He swallows.

"Your nightmares aren't a punishment, Robin. They are a reminder that you are a man who feels love and fear and remorse. They are a reminder that you are a _man_. You are not the first, nor the last to wake at night from these hauntings. I have them too. So does Edward. And what of it?" Marian kisses him, and it is fierce and strong and warm. "You are stronger than your past, Robin of Locksley."

He kisses her back, harder, and they fall back together into the blankets, quiet in the firelight. For the first time in their eight years of marriage, he doesn't flinch when her fingers brush over the scar on his torso; he doesn't even notice her scars. What difference does it make that she was torn apart once when she is here now, lying beneath him, perfectly whole? Perfect and whole. All of them.

Her lips on his ear, breathing his name into the night. Her hands pulling him closer, closer.

She could be right about everything, and wouldn't it make all the difference if she was?

And he is learning. He is learning.


	12. Chapter 12

**A few notes before we begin:**

This is structured quite a bit differently from the previous chapters. These are truly vignettes: three random snapshots from Robin and Marian's life after the events of the show (and the rest of this AU). They are 100% only fluff. Nobody is sad for even a millisecond.

The first takes its inspiration from the Ballad of Robin Hood and Maid Marian; you can read it here.. The last involves Magna Carta, which celebrates its 800th birthday this month. Sure, it was a spectacular failure in its time, but I think history rehabilitates it.

I am going to post the final chapter tomorrow, before I head out of town. I cannot thank you enough for sticking with this fic even through my long absences. I hope you enjoy these last couple of chapters - as always, please let me know what you think. I really appreciate your comments (yes, even the weird ones from Guy fans).

Enjoy!

* * *

In their long lives, Robin and Marian have many more adventures. They even return to Sherwood Forest for a time, when King John pulls the reins too tight, but fortunately it is not long before they return to their beloved home at Locksley.

A few years later Robin is called to war in France, though he refuses to kill anyone. At first this makes King John determined to have him executed for cowardice, but when Robin shoots to incapacitate - and then holds the noble fighters for exorbitant ransoms - John begins to see the benefits of Robin's pacifism.

Over the years, Robin goes to court less and less often, finding that the pleasures of Locksley - with his gang, his growing family, and the villagers who have never forgotten Robin Hood's brave deeds - are unmatched.

And so he and Marian live out their days in both joy and sadness, though in unequal measure; joy is the author of by far the greater portion. They earned it, after all.

Tales of Marian and Robin's long life and love have been told elsewhere, in many places, so here there will be just three before the end.

* * *

**I. One More Bedtime Story (1204)**

"Papa," Katherine says, very seriously, "Emma wants to hear a story."

Robin sits down on the children's bed and laughs. "Does she, now?" Emma is barely eight months old, swaddled tightly in her cradle halfway across the room, and surely expressed no such wish to her eldest sister.

Edward nods helpfully. "She does!" He presses himself into his father's side, and Eleanor comes around the other. Edward whispers, "So do we."

Robin hugs his children to him, but shakes his head. "I'm no good at stories. Ask your mother."

Katherine sticks her tongue out. "_She_ said to ask _you_."

"Did she?" Of course she did. "Well then, I suppose I'll have to oblige." Robin moves to the center of the bed, gathering his three oldest children around him. "So what's the story about?"

All at the same time, Robin hears, "Bears!" "Princesses!" "Swords!" —this last from Eleanor, who received a wooden sword for her birthday and has since devoted all of her playtime to hitting things - or siblings - with it.

"Once upon a time, there was a princess, and a young man who was very much in love with her," he begins, and immediately he's interrupted.

"Was he a prince?" Katherine asks.

"_Shh_," says Eleanor, harshly.

"Bears," whines Edward.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" Robin teases, and they all three quiet down. "Now as I was saying. She was a very beautiful princess, and she was also very clever and brave. In fact, she was the best archer and swordfighter in the land - except for the young man, of course."

Eleanor sighs happily.

"The princess and the young man had grown up together, but the young man was called to fight in a great war, far across the sea, and when he finally returned, things had changed a great deal in his homeland. And while he was away, the princess had developed a very unusual habit. She would dress up in men's clothes and ride around the countryside at night, protecting her people from an evil sheriff and handing out food and medicine."

Katherine narrows her eyes. "Why did she have to go in secret?"

Robin thinks quickly. "Well, princesses are always kept under careful watch to make sure no harm comes to them. Besides, some people in the palace didn't think it was good to help the poor."

"Why not?"

The innocence of her question surprises him. She's not so young anymore, at nine years old, and he wonders briefly if he's shielded her too much from the world. Over time Robin has affiliated himself with the Court less and less, and now only goes to London or Winchester when he is commanded by King John, which happens rarely enough. Shortly after Katherine was born, he realized that nothing at Court could ever match what he had back in Locksley. Still, Edward will be the Earl of Huntingdon after Robin, so perhaps he should - but there were so many years left to sort that out.

"Doesn't _matter_, let him tell the story!" Eleanor says, nudging her sister.

"After the young man came back, the princess rejected him. She was still angry that he'd left her to go off to war. Though he was still in love with her, the young man abided by her decision. But he, too, took up arms against the evil in their land, and so they were bound to run into each other.

"One night, the young man was out in the forest gathering food to bring back to his village, when he came across an oddly dressed person skinning a deer in a clearing. Now, the young man knew this was against the law, and lawbreakers were often dangerous. So he pulled out his sword and said, 'Ahoy there!'

"The other, smaller man stopped and turned. His face was covered by a mask, and he didn't speak - he just came at the young man with his own sword. The two lunged and parried and fought brilliantly for nearly an hour, and it seemed that neither could take the upper hand, when suddenly the smaller man tripped over a tree root and went flying.

"The young man lunged and landed atop him, holding his hands down as he struggled. 'Let's see who you really are,' he said, pulling the mask off to reveal - 'Princess?'

"In the dark, she had not realized it was her old friend, and when she saw who it was, she was so happy that she forgot her anger and kissed him. From then on they were inseparable, fighting the sheriff together at night, and spending time together in secret during the day. After many years, when the sheriff was defeated, the princess and the young man finally married, and they lived happily ever after.

"There!" Robin says triumphantly. "Not bad?" Robin's so pleased to have finished that he doesn't even notice that Eleanor and Edward have both fallen fast asleep.

"Papa," Katherine says, suspicious. "Are you sure that's not a story about you and Mama? It _sounds_ like you and Mama."

"It does not!"

"It _does_," she insists. "You're both good at fighting, and I bet you fought each other _loads_ of times. And you always get mad at each other but then you kiss all the time too, just like in the story."

"Hmm. You must be right, then."

"But Mum's not a princess!"

"No," Robin agrees cheerfully, leaning in to whisper: "She's a queen."

Winking at Katherine, Robin carefully climbs over his sleeping children to blow out the candles and tuck the blankets around their shoulders. After whispering "Good night" to Katherine, he looks into Emma's cradle, where she still sleeps soundly, and heads to the door.

Marian is standing there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. Half-smiling at him the way she does, lips closed but still soft, in her nightshirt with her hair down around her shoulders. God, he loves her.

He smiles back. "What?" he asks, a little sheepish. Wondering how much she'd heard.

"I think I like your version better," she says, twining her fingers through his and leading him to their bedchamber.

Robin opens the door to let her enter first, then shuts it behind them and gives his wife a dramatic shrug. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh really." Marian loops her thumbs into Robin's waistband, pulling his hips against hers. "That story wasn't at all inspired by your life."

"Not in the least." He leans down to kiss her. "Except for the princess."

"I think you may have slightly exaggerated my qualities," says Marian, nuzzling her nose against his.

"Hmm?"

"The most beautiful woman in the world? The second-best swordsman in the world?" she says, in a fairly terrible impression of Robin's voice.

"I said best sword _fighter_. I thought you'd like that. And I don't think I exaggerated at all."

She blushes - how is it _even_ possible that he can still make her blush? It doesn't matter; he's glad of it, in any case. Life would be far less worthwhile without opportunities to make Marian blush. "Come on."

"I wouldn't settle for anything less." He puffs up. "After all, according to the story, I'm the _first_-best swordsman in the world."

"Maybe ten years ago, old man."

"Hey!"

"You never tell me stories like that," says Marian, teasing.

"Well, you were there for all of them."

"Yes, but your versions are so much better."

He laughs. "All right. I'll tell you a story."

She looks up at him patiently, and Robin kisses her, sliding his hand down her hip.

"Robin," she warns, as his lips travel to the low neckline of her chemise, "this isn't a story."

"I'm setting the stage!" he says, mock-offended.

"_Oh really_."

"I'm going to tell you the story of our wedding night," he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. He lifts the garment over her head, pulling gently to get the fabric loose from her hair.

"_Robin_," she laughs, and she doesn't do a thing to stop him.

Now that he has access to all of her, Robin begins working his way down Marian's body, breathing the words along her warm skin. "Once upon a time, there was a woman who, though she had allowed her fiancé certain liberties, remained a maid on her wedding night." By now his lips and tongue are teasing the outline of her breasts, and a low moan escapes Marian's lips. Robin grins.

"She and her _devastatingly_ handsome husband were married in the desert, and shared their wedding night in a beautiful old stone house. Her husband had been imagining their wedding night since he was, oh, sixteen years old, but he kept himself under control."

"_Did_ you," she smirks.

By now he's reached the top of her hip bone, and he runs his tongue along the hollow there. "Sure he did. Really, it was the lady who couldn't control herself." Marian makes a sound of protest, but Robin can't stop himself. With a wicked grin, he continues, "She unlaced his breeches, and—"

"That's quite enough, Robin," she starts to say, but then he finds a more sensitive spot, and she gives up her objections.

Pausing briefly, Robin grins up at her. "Do you want me to finish the story?"

"We could just re-enact it."

"I hoped you'd say that."

And they lived _very_ happily ever after.

* * *

**II. One More Wedding (1206)**

The sun is hot and bright in the summer sky as they make the final preparations. The church in Locksley is decorated in banners of green and white, and a great feast is laid out in the hall. All over the village, people are getting ready. A wedding means a day off of working in the fields. A day for cooking and decorating and giggling, the women plaiting each other's hair and the men making bawdy jokes, and everyone rounding up the village children when they wander too far out of view.

The bride is a blacksmith's daughter from Clun, and she is radiant in a simple blue dress, a crown of flowers on her head. Her mother and sisters and aunts gather around her, pinning everything just so.

The groom, standing across the way, looks about twice as nervous as the girl, Marian notes with a grin. As it should be. She remembers how desperately nervous Robin was when he proposed - both times. The boy - she has to remind herself not to call him that; he's twenty-two years old and a boy no longer, he's the same age she was when she married - is similarly surrounded by family, though his is much smaller. Just his mother, Alice, in joyful tears, and both of his fathers - Luke and Little John. By the looks of him, Luke is imparting marriage advice while Little Little John blushes fiercely.

All of the old gang have gathered. None of them have ever roamed very far from Locksley, but they live their own lives, most of the time. Allan's stayed closest, as the reeve of the manor, but Will and Djaq live right in town. Between Will's carpentry and Djaq's skills - she's better than any physician - they make a good living for themselves and their children. Much and Eve and their children aren't much further, settled comfortably at Bonchurch Lodge - _finally_, Much still says, though he's lived there for more than ten years now - and Little John's never left the forest.

It is only Little John that Marian ever worries about. The rest of the gang are, like she and Robin, nearly absurd in their happiness. But Little John lives by himself, almost a hermit, in the old camp. In the winter he'll let Robin and Marian put him up in the manor or he'll stay with Will and Djaq, but only grudgingly, and only on the coldest nights.

Marian asked him about it once, years ago. He just said that he liked it best in the forest, but she'll never believe it. He just doesn't want to go home without Alice and his boy, even after all these years. At least he sees them now - ever since King Richard pardoned all of the gang, he's been part of Little Little John's life - but Marian knows it's not the same. She thinks about what it would be like to see Robin married to someone else, raising Katherine or Edward, and she wonders how John even makes it through the day.

At mid-day the villagers begin to file into the church, and by the time Marian finds Robin and the children in the crowd, they are stuck standing at the back. Little Emma sits on Robin's shoulders, happily pulling his hair through the entire ceremony. Marian smiles up at her. She's her father's spitting image: the other children all have Marian's pale skin and dark hair, but Emma is all Robin.

"Mama," Eleanor whispers, tugging at Marian's sleeve. "Edward and I were helping!"

Marian grimaces. She knows exactly what Eleanor and Edward's "help" tends to look like. "Was Papa keeping an eye on you while you helped?"

"No!" the girl says gleefully. "He said he trusted us."

Marian raises her eyebrows and catches her husband's gaze, and he just gives her that infuriating shrug, like he has _no idea_ what she might object to.

He's out of trouble, though, as the priest begins to intone. Even the children are attentive, or maybe just hypnotized by the Latin and the warmth of the stone church in the summer heat.

Watching Little Little John and the girl, Marie, standing up there, surrounded by so many people who love them, Marian is struck by how much Robin Hood's gang really did accomplish. She remembers Robin's tiny weddings in the greenwood, all the young men and women who didn't get to have this, all because of the sheriff. It's such a small thing, really. She has always focused on the lives they saved - the men and women rescued from execution or starvation or sickness - but suddenly Marian understands how much _this_ matters, too.

The gang hadn't just evicted the sheriff. They'd paved the way for joy.

Once they've said their vows and exchanged their rings, the happy couple walks back down the aisle, smiling and laughing as the crowd throws flower petals into the air. The rest of the crowd follows them out, back to the manor where there is food in the hall and musicians playing outside.

As soon as they're through the church door, the elder three children run off to find their friends. Edward immediately locates Much's son Stephen, and the two of them veer off towards who knows what mischief, with Eleanor close on their heels. For once, Emma seems content to be stuck with her parents, though it might just be the heat making her sleepy.

Off near the entrance to the manor, Marian sees Little John embracing his son and daughter-in-law, looking as happy as she has ever seen him. One more thing the gang accomplished. Without them, Little Little John might not even be alive to get married, and certainly his father wouldn't be here.

And she wonders just how much of the world turned on that jeweled hairpin. How different the world would be if Robin had died that day, after rescuing Luke and Will and Allan. Different for her, certainly, and immeasurably worse - but how much else? The king would've died years earlier, Vaisey would have continued his reign of terror in Nottingham, and who knows how it would have spread.

They have done good work, and watching all of them now - with their families, eating and drinking and making merry - it seems to Marian that they have all gotten more than their due.

By the time Marian makes her way over to the manor, Emma's found some children her own age to roll around in the dirt with while Robin chats animatedly with some villagers. Marian comes up next to him, wrapping her arm around his waist. "I'm sure you're going to give Emma a bath tonight," she says sweetly.

Robin looks over at his youngest child and winces. "So it seems."

Kissing him on the cheek, Marian goes to make a plate of food for herself and Emma, knowing full well that Robin won't eat until everyone else has had their fill. During one year of bad harvests, he'd gotten so thin that Marian had been tempted to force-feed him. And even now that hunger is a distant memory in the village, he won't break the habit.

She settles down next to Will and Djaq, who are eating happily and watching the children play. Yes, Marian thinks. They've gotten more than they could ever have dreamed during those long nights in the forest. Homes and families. Food and safety.

And Robin, who winks at her from across the room, cheeky as ever. It seems that Robin Hood will never grow up, and right now, smiling back at him, Marian is glad of it.

* * *

**III. One More Document (1215)**

"Father, you must. It is a new era!" Edward exclaims. "Think of it!"

"I have seen it, Edward, and it isn't what you think." Robin sighs. "It's all nobles' petty complaints. There's nothing in it for anyone else - barely a word for anyone without a title."

"But it's a _start_. It's better than nothing," Eleanor pipes in. The two of them have Marian's head for politics, and her patience for it as well. Robin - Robin does not.

"Well, I aspire to more than 'better than nothing'," Robin says sharply. "I'm not putting my name on a document that does nothing for the poor."

Marian's been sitting with Emma across the room, working on Katherine's wedding dress. She raises an eyebrow at him. He is sure she's tired of hearing about it - the three of them have been at it for weeks, ever since Robin's old friend de Vesci showed up in Locksley. De Vesci had lost Robin's interest - and Marian's - when he'd tried to reminisce about the Crusades, but Robin knows he means well. And he'd certainly gotten the children on his side.

When Eleanor starts in on it again, Marian hands the dress to Emma and walks up to intercept them. "Leave it," she warns Eleanor, then turns to Robin. "Let's go for a ride."

Marian's never lost her love of riding, though Robin remains indifferent - it's faster than walking, and otherwise he could take it or leave it. Still, he follows her out of the village, up to a meadow overlooking Locksley. From up here they can see all the way to Nottingham, and all the villages around.

After tying up the horses they sit down side-by-side at the top of the hill, and Robin still thinks it's the most beautiful view in England. Especially with Marian beside him.

"Whatever you choose, Robin, will be right," she says. "You have done your part for England, time and time again."

"It's going against the king. It's no different from the Black Knights—"

"You know it is. John isn't King Richard, and in any case they're not trying to overthrow the king - just rein him in."

The sun is setting over the village. He turns to Marian, bathed in sunlight. Her hair is only just beginning to gray, and every time he finds a strand he teases her relentlessly. Robin's lucky she's so good-natured, since he's been graying for years. "What do you think I should do?"

Marian sighs. "We've always taken different views on this, Robin. You hold everything to an impossible standard. If it were me - yes, I would sign it. It's like Eleanor said, isn't it - better to make some progress than none." She puts her hand on his knee. "But there's no shortage of angry lords. There's no need for you to compromise your principles, not for this."

They sit together in silence, watching the twilight settle in. In the village, everyone bustles about finishing the last chores of the day, bringing in their livestock for the night. A few have their rush lights out, but most make their way in the half-dark, saying good-night to their neighbors as they go.

"I sat up here when I was sure you were going to marry Gisborne," Robin says quietly. "A thousand years ago."

Marian grins at the exaggeration. Robin thinks she still looks like a girl when she smiles: those full lips, those dimples. "Or twenty. Give or take."

"Much found me sitting up there, looking out at the village. I said terrible things to him. I still can't believe he forgave me."

"I'm sure he's forgotten it by now," she says, moving closer to him so they are touching, hip to ankle.

"Perhaps." He looks over at her and shakes his head. "I still can't believe you almost married Gisborne."

"Robin, you just said it was a thousand years ago!"

"Yeah, I know. Still."

"You were so jealous," she says, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Jealous?" Robin says, eyes wide. "I was _terrified_. The thought of losing you." It still makes him shudder to think about it. The man burned her house down, gave her that scar on her belly, imprisoned her father. To imagine Marian married to Gisborne - it was too much, even now.

Marian bites her lip. "I shouldn't tease you about that. I'm sorry." She curls her arm around his. "I'm glad I didn't."

He chuckles at the understatement. "Yeah. Me too."

Once it's full dark, Marian says, "I suppose we should head back."

Robin considers. "Is Katherine home?"

"She'd better be." Marian knows well that she's been sneaking out at night to meet her fiancé, though she hasn't said anything about it. It's not like Marian set an example in that regard, and they'll be married soon enough. "The rest of them are, certainly."

He lays back in the grass, resting his head on his clasped hands. He turns to face her. "Do you ever miss sleeping outside?"

"I never had the affinity for it that you did, love."

Still, she lays down next to him, tucking her head beneath his chin. He brings his arms around to hold her and whispers, "What do you say, then?"

"What about the horses?"

"They're horses. They can sleep out here as well as back home."

"You're not worried about thieves?"

Robin grins. "Don't worry, Marian. I've got a good name with the outlaws."

"I'm sure you do."

The stars come out, and Robin remembers when she'd moved out to the forest. She couldn't sleep, so they lay a few feet apart, counting the stars out loud. Whenever he looked up at the night sky, he thought of what his father used to say, and he wonders now if it's true. If each of them will become a star, bringing light to the darkness. Silently he counts his dead: his mother and father, Marian's father, Little John, King Richard, Roy, Carter, Allan's brother. All the dead in the Crusades. Everyone Vaisey killed. The list is so long it's uncountable, and so too the stars. Why shouldn't it be true?

He and Marian will be there one day. Robin hopes that day is still a long way off, but it's a comfort anyway. Marian asleep beside him, and the constellations shining down. A reminder, a promise. An absolution.

Out in the forest again after so many years, he breathes in the night air, and he knows it remembers him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes:** All right guys, this is it. *sniffle* Maybe this is my '90s-songfic tendencies (yep, I'm old), but I couldn't help the quote at the bottom. It's from that Band of Horses song, and I'm obsessed with it, so there you are.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, as always, and I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think!

* * *

_Today is a good day to die_. (1250)

* * *

Cate knows that this is the end.

She has seen this before: this sickness that comes on so quickly. Its victims sweat and cry out in pain and eventually fall into a sleep from which they do not wake. This sickness has taken down strong, healthy men in their prime; her grandfather - however strong and healthy he once was - does not stand a chance.

It does not make it easier.

Over the past few days all of Cate's siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles have started to gather, save her uncle Edward, who is stuck in London on court business. Her grandfather has been glad to see them all, but it doesn't take long for him to tire of their company. Except his wife's - he never tires of her.

Cate's grandmother has not left his side since last night. Cate hears them whispering to one another, and between her grandfather's coughs and moans she also hears him laugh. Imagine it. She wonders if she'll ever find someone like that. Someone who can make her laugh even as she's dying.

In the morning, her grandparents' old friend comes. Allan a Dale, he's called, and Cate greets him with a hug. He was the reeve of Locksley for years, until he grew too old for it and passed the job onto his son, Thomas. Even Thomas is getting on in years, now. He'd had only girls, so they'll have to find someone new to run the manor eventually.

Not today.

Marian gives Allan a kiss on the cheek, then kisses her husband and leaves the two men together. Marian and Cate stand together in the hall outside.

"Grandmother," Cate says hesitantly. "I'm so sorry."

Marian places a hand on Cate's cheek. "We were always living on stolen time," she says, her voice somehow not at all sad, and stronger than Cate's heard it in years. "I am grateful for every moment."

Robin and Allan stay in the room together for a long time, and after a while Cate asks, "What are they talking about?"

But Marian just shakes her head. "They have a long history, Robin and Allan. Let it die with them. They are good men both. That is enough."

* * *

After Allan leaves, Marian goes back into the bedchamber to sit next to Robin. His face is pale and drawn, but his eyes are still bright. Always.

"It won't be long now," he says, and she doesn't argue with him. She knows it's true. With every hour his breathing grows more labored. He is a fighter, and he is fighting, but he is eighty years old. And it is enough.

She doesn't say _I'll miss you when you go_, although she will. She doesn't say anything. They have been together their whole lives, and they learned young not to keep secrets. Robin knows everything already. How much she loves him, how much she admires him. How she has been grateful for every single day waking up next to him.

After an especially strong cough, Robin recovers, lies back down and chuckles. "What was it John always used to say?"

Marian kisses his hand. "Today is a good day to die," she whispers.

"Yes. It is." Robin looks up at her, and in his gaze Marian sees everything he's ever been. The child he was, daring and too clever by half. As an adolescent, desperate enough for glory that he traveled halfway across the world to find it, only to return as a young man to learn that there was plenty of glory to be had at home. Her lover, her husband, the father of her children; her partner in everything.

"My Marian. We did all right, in the end."

"Better than all right." She leans in to kiss him on the forehead, and then on his lips. His skin has gone from too hot to too cold, and Marian knows, she knows. She whispers: "You changed the world, Robin Hood."

"_We_ changed it," he says, squeezing her hand as hard as he can. Marian nods, and the next moment is the only weakness she shows. She walks around to the other side of the bed and slides in next to Robin, pulling the blankets up around both their shoulders. She rests her head on his chest. Sighing, Robin twines their fingers together and places their joined hands over his heart.

Marian doesn't cry. She is resolute. She will not cry, because there is no reason to be sad. They had so many years on earth, and they will have forever in heaven.

"I love you," he says, the sound barely registering, but she feels his breath on her cheek.

Their eyes meet. "I love you, Robin of Locksley," she says, and moves to press one more kiss to his lips. "Sleep well, my husband."

And he closes his eyes.

* * *

It isn't long before Marian, too, is in the ground; buried next to her husband at Kirklees Abbey.

The night before she died, mere days after her husband's passing, Marian had slept poorly. Cate stayed by her side, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead, but the fever raged. Past midnight, Cate had fallen asleep in a chair next to her grandmother's bed, and she woke suddenly when Marian gripped her hand. Strong - too strong, for such a frail old woman - and her eyes were bright as she said, "Robin's waiting for me. In Sherwood, he's waiting."

"Grandfather passed away," Cate had said, gently as she could.

But Marian just shook her head. "Tell - tell Robin - tell him I'm coming-"

Cate finds her in the morning. She calls for a servant and together they wash her body and search for something suitable to bury her in.

The servant, Alice, digs through Marian's trunk and finds, near the bottom, a long white gown with silver embroidery along the cuffs and the neckline. It's a beautiful thing, finely made and perfectly preserved. When Allan comes over he takes one look at it and has to turn away. "It was her wedding dress," he says gruffly, once he recovers himself. "She'd want - she'd want you to wear it for your own wedding. That dress isn't made for a funeral."

"It's beautiful," Cate says, running her fingers down a seam.

"Not half as beautiful folded up as it looked on her," Allan says, a little wistfully, and Cate gives him a curious look. "Ah, it's nothing. Just an old man gettin' nostalgic. Your grandmother was the finest woman I ever knew." Allan thinks about it, then reconsiders. "Apart from my wife, of course. And Djaq. Come to think of it, I've known a lot of good women."

Cate has only ever known her grandmother as an old woman, and though she's heard stories of her grandparents' exploits - who hasn't? - she's never really thought about the fact that they were young once. That, in fact, they were about her age when they were fighting the evil sheriff and stealing from nobles, risking their lives day in and day out.

Cate looks down at her hands. Perfectly smooth. Oh, she's had lessons in archery and swordsmanship, like everyone in her family - she's quite a good archer, actually - but it's not the same as having to use them.

In truth, she's glad. As much as she's always loved the stories of Robin Hood, she is much happier in her life here. Sleeping indoors, in a real bed. Never worrying about where her next meal will come from. The comfort of the house she grew up in, back in Nottingham, and the manor in Locksley - this is what she wants. And though Cate never wants to, she understands why her grandparents fought for it.

* * *

That night in the manor, Cate presides over the gathering. Her aunts and uncles, siblings and cousins, have all been in Locksley since Robin took ill, but it is Cate - the very youngest grandchild, who's spent these last two years caring for them - who presides.

Uncle Edward has finally shown up and is already arguing with Aunt Eleanor. Everyone from Locksley is here, and plenty of men and women from the villages around, including some elders that Cate hasn't seen for years. All of the old gang's children and grandchildren are here, the boys and girls Cate grew up with. And Allan - the last of all of them - standing surrounded by his own children, but looking terribly alone.

People come up to her and her family, one by one, and gift them with stories. Some of them Cate has never even heard before: a man who'd been abandoned in the forest as a baby and rescued by Robin some fifty years ago, a woman whose mother would've died of starvation if not for Marian's intervention. A hundred different stories.

The funerals for the rest of the gang had been much the same. Little John had been the first to pass away, long before Cate's birth. The others died when Cate was a girl - Much, her grandfather's best friend, some ten years ago. Robin had not handled it well, though Much had been sick for some time. A few years later Will and Djaq perished on a journey back to Djaq's homeland, leaving behind Will's brother and a host of children and grandchildren. Every time, Robin and Marian held a remembrance at Locksley. Every time, people came from all over the land to express their gratitude to Robin Hood's gang.

Though it is a sad occasion, the hall is full of warmth and food and good company, which seems right to Cate. She cannot imagine her grandparents wanting anything different. They always delighted in making other people comfortable and happy.

After Cate greets what she thinks is the last of the guests, she spies someone else standing in the doorway. There is an old man, at least as old as Cate's grandfather, weathered, with white hair down to his shoulders and hands rough with work, but his shoulders are straight and his eyes bright. He is accompanied by a young man, around Cate's own age, who is - she blushes to notice - _exceptionally_ handsome, with coal-black hair and blue eyes. From the way they are dressed, Cate assumes they are tradesmen, though she knows you can't always tell. Certainly her grandfather rarely dressed to his station.

There is something haunted about the older man, and Cate wonders. There is a man she'd heard about - but no, surely not. It could not be him.

But when Allan sees the man, he crosses the hall to embrace him. The older man startles at the touch, but eventually leans into it. The two speak for long minutes, and then Allan leads both of the men over to Cate.

"Milady," says the young man, bowing slightly.

"Catherine," she says, inclining her head. Though her grandfather was an earl, her mother had married a merchant, and in any case no one in her family cared much for titles.

He smiles, and Cate tries hard not to blush again - his smile is lovely and genuine, all straight teeth and warmth. "My name is Robert," he says, "and I've brought my grandfather from the north." He looks back at the older man, sympathy in his eyes. "It was a hard journey for him, but he insisted."

Allan gives him a look. "She doesn't know who you are. Either of you."

Robert takes a step back, looking embarrassed. "My apologies, milady - Catherine," he corrects. "I thought you - well—"

"This is Guy of Gisborne," Allan says, straightforward as always. "Well, just Guy, I s'pose. And Robert here's his grandson. Your grandparents told you about Guy, yeah?"

Cate nods, speechless. In truth, her grandparents had rarely spoken of him, at least not in front of one another; Cate had always gotten the impression that it remained a sore subject. But she'd heard plenty from Much, who was always happy to tell stories of the good old days in great detail, and from her own mother.

And to think he was still alive, when all the rest of them were dead. No one had ever bothered to speculate on whether or not Guy was still alive - it seemed so unlikely. But here he was.

"Pleased to meet you," she says, once she recovers herself. "You're welcome here."

Robert smiles gratefully, and Guy speaks for the first time. "Thank you," he says, his voice gruff and shaky.

"Here, let me find you a place to sit." Cate leads them over the back wall, where one of the benches is still empty. Together, she and Robert help him sit down, and the old man sighs. Allan sits down next to him, and the four of them stand there staring at each other.

Cate can't quite figure out how to put words to her question, which is something like _what are you doing here?_, but hopefully less combative. Though not as reviled as Sheriff Vaisey, Guy was clearly a villain in her grandparents' stories. And if she remembers right, it was Marian who got him exiled to the north, fifty-odd years ago.

So instead of asking, she gives an awkward curtsey and goes to get mugs of ale for the three men, and for herself. By the time she comes back, Allan and Robert are engaged in conversation.

"So you're an apprentice, then?" Allan asks.

Robert nods. "Yes, to an armourer in Newcastle. He was good enough to give me a month's leave to take Grandfather here. I don't think he'd have made it on his own."

"I could have," the old man grumbles, and Cate hides a smile. She's developed an affection for ornery elders, these past few years. Guy sees her, though, and gives her a sharp look. "You look just like her."

Cate's eyes go wide, and Allan and Robert turn to her, too.

"Yeah, I see it," says Allan. "It's the smile. And her eyes."

"I'm standing right here," Cate says.

"Sorry." Allan doesn't sound especially sorry, and even in his eighties he can smirk with the best of them. "But it's striking, really. I don't know how I didn't see it before. You grew up, all of a sudden."

"I'm twenty years old!"

"Like I said. All of a sudden."

Cate rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, that too," Allan says, clearly pleased to annoy her. "I saw Marian make that face a thousand times."

"I've no doubt, since she spent so much time with you," Cate shoots back. "My apologies," she says, this time to Robert and Guy. "Is there anything more I can get you?"

The two men shake their heads, and Cate smiles at them. "Then if you please, I should—"

"Wait," Guy says. "Please. I came here - I wanted to -"

He struggles to finish, and Cate can't tell if it's old age or nerves, but she stays. If this man came all the way from Newcastle - a place so far away she's hardly sure where it is, only that it's a week's journey at least - she'll hear him out, no matter what stories she's heard about him.

The man stands up then, with some difficulty, and clasps Cate's hands. His grip is surprisingly strong for a man so old. "Marian," he says. "I wanted - I wanted to thank her."

Cate's mouth is suddenly dry. "For what?"

"For giving me a chance at a new life." The intensity in the old man's eyes is unbearable. "I knew she could never forgive me, so I stayed away. But I wanted to thank her."

Thinking back on the few conversations she'd had about Guy, Cate tries to remember what her grandmother's face had looked like when she'd spoken of him. Strange though it seems, she doesn't remember any anger. Pity, maybe. Sadness. But not anger. "Guy," Cate says, slow and clear, "I don't think there was anything to forgive."

The man just nods without saying a word. He brings their clasped hands to his lips and presses a dry, courtly kiss to her knuckles, then sits back down.

Cate stares at him for a long time, and she can feel Allan's and Robert's eyes on her as well. Suddenly uncomfortable, she turns and walks away, back toward the familiar: all of her cousins standing around the fire, laughing and drinking.

Robert follows her, though, taking hold of her arm and turning her around. "I'm sorry, Catherine," he says, his face so earnest. "He's always been a bit strange, and these past few years - well, you know. Hearing of your grandmother's death was a shock to him, I think."

"He was in love with her," Cate says, not looking at him. Something absent in her voice. "He followed her around for years. They were nearly married - she left him at the altar."

"I know."

"And she had him sent north."

"The alternative was death." Robert gives her a small smile. "I, for one, am glad she had him sent away instead. I'm happy to be here."

"Is he happy?"

Robert looks at her curiously. "As much as anyone."

Cate thinks of her grandparents, the famed Robin Hood and Lady Marian, and she doesn't think they would begrudge an old enemy his happiness. "Good," she says. "I'm glad."

And she smiles at him, feeling a little bit like someone's hand has been at work in this. "Will you stay at least a few nights before you go back?"

"Yes," he says, "we were planning to stay at an inn in Nottingham."

Cate shakes her head. "Please, stay here. There's plenty of space at the manor…and I suspect a great number of my relatives will be desperately curious to meet you." She grins at him, realizing that that might've sounded like a threat, trying to soften it.

He takes it as she intended. "We'd be honored," he says, and he sounds it.

"Good!" And she loops her arm through his, and maybe it's a little forward, but she feels all of a sudden like she's known this boy for a very long time. "Then let me introduce you. You'd best remember all their names; they're quite particular."

Robert laughs, and together they head toward the warmth of the fire, where all of Cate's family turns to greet them.

* * *

"Of the love of Robin Hood and Lady Marian, a great deal has been written and sung," Cate tells the crowd, gathered around a fire in the greenwood on the 14th of October, as they do every year. "Tonight we share but a few of those stories, may they please you."

And she begins.

* * *

_lucky ones are we all, 'til it is over_

_everyone near and far_

_when you smile, the sun it peeks through the clouds_

_never die, for always be around_

_and around and around_


End file.
